


Wanna Be Loved

by Wednesday Thunder (wednesdaythunder)



Category: Glee
Genre: Badboy!Kurt, Dalton Academy, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 54,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesdaythunder/pseuds/Wednesday%20Thunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Badboy!Kurt Dalton AU: Wes is determined to get the Warblers to Nationals, even if it means blackmailing Dalton's newest student; the somewhat terrifying Kurt Hummel.</p><p>CURRENTLY ON HIATUS</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Blackbird Tattoo

**Author's Note:**

> What started as a cute little bunny, hopping around in my head and the end of last year or so have now grown into a five-page plot bunny document and also an actual fanfiction with an actual first chapter. Woaw. I do hope that you will enjoy it, because I certainly enjoyed plotting it XD
> 
> Big thank you's to Olinka and bononoh (bononoh.tumblr.com) for beta reading and to Froggy for your excitement <3

It wouldn't strike anyone as particularly outrageous that Kurt, “a mischievous boy with both an attitude problem and a queer appearance,” as so nicely worded in his folder in Principal Figgins’ office (he may have broken into the office after hours out of sheer curiosity), had a tattoo. Hell, for most “bad boys,” a tattoo was an essential part of the concept; even the Skanks underneath the bleachers had ironic tattoos on somewhat visible parts of their bodies as their hallmark. He had heard, read, seen _many_ examples when these ink-marks came to be in the a spur of the moment, and the whole artwork became a trashy sort of thing in his eyes –– both because the tattoo itself was awful, and because the concept of having something engraved into your skin forever lost its depth.

He had long ago promised himself that he would never do such a mindless thing, even in his most drunken moments. In fact, the very idea of having something permanent on your skin, whether it was a couple of words or a picture or something, was terrifying to Kurt. What if he grew tired of it? What if it wasn't carried out as Kurt wanted it to? What if he changed his mind? And let's not even mention the _pain_ of having needles bruising your skin for something close to eternity. _No, thank you_.

But a thought, no matter how crazy it might be, spreads like wildfire through the human mind. Sometimes it made an appearance before falling into the forgotten –– but sometimes it stayed there, lurking in the shadows and reminding of itself now and then, slyly, cunningly. Kurt thought about it for about a year or so, weighing whys and don'ts against each other before finally embracing the idea.

He had, contrary to the most popular approach, done the same thing when he got each of his piercings: two on his right ear and three on his left, as well as his nostril piercing and _especially_ the tongue. Who would have thought that there was so much to think about when piercing the tongue? And goodness, Kurt wasn't even able to _speak_ properly the first week, so he just had to skip all the classes that he knew demanded his commentary (whether the teachers asked for it or not). He reckoned that Burt had interpreted his silence as something bad: that Kurt was mad at him for some reason, or that he was in trouble. Kurt _was_ usually taciturn because he simply didn't know what to say to his dad, but this time it had been out of the ordinary. So finally at the weekly Friday Dinner between just the two of them (Kurt didn't even understand why Burt insisted on keeping that tradition –– it was not like it was any different from the meals they shared at any other day of the week--but Kurt _had_ to be there), Burt had finally snapped and demanded to know just what was up with Kurt.

He had looked so distressed and worried across the table, and Kurt knew that he would have to tell him. He kept so many things locked up as it was. Taking a deep breath, he braced himself and then stuck out his tongue.

Burt's reaction had been immediate, and really, Kurt should have known what was coming seeing how Burt had reacted to the other piercings. But even if he didn't let it show, it still hurt.

He sat there and listened to Burt rant about why one shouldn't do such a thing: _“... are you even aware of the dangers?! There's so much bacteria that could cause infections. You're playing a dangerous game as it is with that nose –– ”_

“ _Don't you think I'm aware of the risks?” Kurt finally spoke, looking at his father's already reddened face. “I went to a professional, asked him for advice and looked things up online; I got not one but two bottles of alcohol just in case, and I've been watching what I put in my mouth as I ought to, and I will continue doing so until it's completely healed.” He still couldn't pronounce everything just as flawlessly as he had used to before the piercing, but he sure hell sounded better than he had done a few days ago; he just hoped Burt wouldn't hear the difference._

_Unfortunately, Burt caught on something else. “You went to a 'professional?!'” he exclaimed. “So what, they just let you get a piercing without any consent from me or anything?!”_

“ _It's called a fake ID, Dad. I thought you had that one figured out around the nose.” Kurt hit against the the right side of his nose as to point out the ring they both were very aware had its place just there, and Burt let out a frustrated sigh._

“ _Doesn't matter, that thing is –– ”_

“ _If you're saying that the tongue piercing has to go, then you'll have to wait until the wound is fully healed, in case of infections you know, and that takes some time you know, and I'll have to have it on the entire time until then. I'd say it's a rather useless demand,” Kurt cut in, his voice matter of fact-y. He knew that he was winding his father up, thoroughly breaking whatever truce they had between them until now. But this was the only way Kurt knew how to handle things; destroy and push away, far, far away –– it seemed easier that way. Didn't mean that it was._

“ _You're grounded,” Burt deadpanned._

“ _I'll sneak out the window or won't come home right away after school.”_

“ _I'll take away your phone.”_

“ _The only reason I have a phone is so that you can call me.”_

“ _I'll take your computer then.”_

“ _I'll use yours.”_

“ _No TV.”_

“ _I don't even watch TV.”_

_The air seemed to go out of Burt just then, and he looked away, taking off his cap and pulling his hand through his non-existent hair in a restless movement before putting it back on._

“ _Just, just go down to your room, Kurt,” he said faintly, still not looking at him._

_So Kurt rose from his seat, turned and walked down to his dungeon without a word –– not that he really regarded it as a prison, but in his head he liked to think of his room like 'his dungeon' –– and he closed the door and went down the stairs before collapsing on his bed._

_Well, that went well._

And if Burt reacted like _that_ because of a tongue piercing, then it was no way in living hell that Kurt would share this idea with him. Kurt had learned his lesson; he wasn't going to let Burt know anything about it.

But apart from the tongue incident, Kurt had a natural affinity to get away with things; he could probably get away with murder if he ever tried. He knew for a fact that Coach Sylvester was out to get his “white porcelain arse,” as she so neatly phrased it one of the many times in Figgins’ office where she tried to bust him for something that he obviously had done –– the only problem was that she, just like everyone else on this planet, had absolutely no proof that Kurt had been behind it, whatever it was back then.

But so, with the tongue incident in mind, Kurt didn't breathe a word to his dad when he got a tattoo.

After a lot of research on Kurt's part (namely, a lot of google-ing and not exactly _asking_ _ **,**_ but more listening around), Kurt found a studio that met his requirements as 'professional but not too stuck up to ask more questions than he'd like to answer'. When he walked through the door, the tattoo artist behind the desk eyed him critically –– Kurt was far too accustomed to looks like that though, so he brushed it off and carried on with the business he had there. As he went on with explaining what he was looking for though, the look in the artist's eyes changed from a bit judgemental to one of acceptance, like he could see that Kurt had thought about this long and hard, and although Kurt might not look totally of age, he would still do the tattoo. Just what Kurt was looking for, really.

Weeks later, when he was lying on the board with the artist –– Jim, as he later learned –– engraving his skin, he was told how nice it was for once to see a serious kid enter Jim's studio who knew what he was throwing himself into and didn't just see a tattoo like a piece of clothing. It had been one of the few things Jim had said during their two sessions (Kurt had been pleased to find that Jim would rather work in silence than to chit-chat or ask Kurt for the story about the tattoo), and although Kurt couldn't care less what people thought about his tattoo, it was surprisingly nice to hear. He decided to savour it because this was the only time someone would ever comment on his tattoo as far as he was concerned, since this was something he planned to keep hidden.

As for the tattoo itself, he had always known what he wanted. In fact, it was the thought of the illustration itself that had driven him this far; if it had simply been a matter of wanting to get a tattoo primarily and _then_ questioning what the tattoo should be of, he would probably not have gone through with it at all. But that wasn't the case, and he had been determined: he wanted a blackbird.

During his research phase, he had tried to find the symbolic meaning of a blackbird, only to stumble upon several that all seemed a bit vague to him. Some said that a blackbird was linked to death and illness, just like a crow (who was the messenger of death); some said it was a symbol of a new beginning or a development; some talk about light and darkness, wisdom and other magical humbug like that. But he did it more as a reassurance that the blackbird didn't stand for something that was completely horrid, or if it had an actual symbolical meaning accepted by everyone.

To Kurt, the meaning of the blackbird was crystal clear. It held a direct link to his deceased mother. Maybe it was an odd connection, but a memory that he would remember –– one of the few memories that hadn't faded away –– was how whenever there were small leftovers, or when the bread had gone dry and hard, she would make it into crumbles and throw it across the lawn.

“ _Why do you do that?” Kurt asked, his eyes flying over the demolished pieces of what used to be his breakfast, before looking back at his mom._

“ _Because if you don't want to eat it, then why not let the blackbirds have it?” she replied with a chuckle and sat down on the stairs to the terrace, gesturing for Kurt to come and sit next to her._

“ _The black birds?” Kurt asked skeptically, putting his hands on his hips._

“ _Shh,” she said, putting a finger in front of her mouth. “If you're not still and quiet, they'll never come.”_

_Solemnly, he sat down next to his mom, determinedly searching the skies for these black birds. And sure enough, after a minute or so, a large black bird came down and landed on the grass right in front of Kurt's wide eyes._

“ _Is that a black bird?” he whispered loudly._

“ _No honey, that's a crow. Look!” she whispered back in hushed excitement, pointing subtly at a smaller bird, also black, landed a step away from the crow, “_ Now, that's _a blackbird.”_

“ _But both birds are black, how can you tell?”_

“ _Because a blackbird is one word while a black bird is two,” she said, and really, that made no sense to Kurt at all, but since he didn't want the birds to fly away, he said nothing. He'd have to get to the bottom of this later._

He had a perfect plan now that he had found a studio and an artist qualified to give him his tattoo, and he also knew the exact date when he wanted to get it.

Jim had given him a strange look when Kurt booked the date: the 4th of May.

“ _That's over a month from now, I'm sure that I can book you in earlier than that,” he said._

“ _No, I want to do it on that particular date. The reason I came in now is to make sure that everything is ready then.”_

“ _Gotta admire your long-term planning skills, kid.”_

It was the perfect date because it was not only his mother's birthday, but, if she had been alive, it would have been her 45th birthday. And, yes, it could be viewed as silly; hell, if it hadn't been Kurt himself but someone else, he would probably have rolled his eyes at how cliché it seemed. But as it was, he made his choice, and people could think whatever they fucking wished to; this was something between him and himself, and he wasn't ever going to ask for a second opinion.

The list of things he kept from Burt was just getting longer and longer, and he felt sick when he thought about it. Yet he couldn't bring himself to let Burt in on at least one of them; it was as if they were all connected like links on a chain. If he ever brought a small and perhaps indifferent secret into light, the whole chain would break, and every single secret that he kept so well hidden would be seen by Burt. And Kurt couldn't have that, couldn't _afford_ that. It was much safer like this. The truth was that Kurt was terrified of what his dad would say, would think of it, of him.

_About two hours later or so, he heard Burt open the door to his dungeon and listened to his heavy steps as he walked down the stairs. There wasn't a lock on the door; Burt's refusal to install one was the reason, and Kurt had never asked for one of done it himself. He understood why Burt wouldn't –– despite living under one roof, they were so distant from each other, and another lock would just be another step away. So Kurt didn't question it._

_He was still laying on the same spot on his bed since he dropped down on it before: on his stomach, turned away from the stairs, facing the wall and the door to his admittedly huge wardrobe. Slowly, Burt crossed the floor, but Kurt didn't make a single move to acknowledge his father's presence, even though he was so immensely aware of it._

_Burt rounded the bed and came into Kurt's vision, and Kurt tried very hard to stare through him, but it became a hard task when Burt crouched down in front of him, desperately trying to catch his eye and making the lump form in Kurt's throat._

“ _You have to –– you've got to tell me what's wrong, Kurt,” he said in a close to broken voice, almost pleading, and Kurt felt his stomach turn in a very unpleasant way, but he kept staring past his dad. “I can see how something is eating you up, but I can't help if you don't talk to me, Kurt.”_

 _Some part of Kurt really did want to tell his dad, but he was terrified of what Burt’s reaction would be if he actually_ told _him. He couldn't bare the thought of Burt rejecting him –– then he would have absolutely nothing._

_For a second, he met his father's eyes; they were so desperate for any response at all, steady, open and searching –– everything Kurt wasn't. It was too much for him, so he had to look away because he felt like hurling up the little he ate for dinner._

_Slowly, he shook his head because he didn't trust his voice and even so, what the hell could he say? All he could come up with was denial, dismissal, cruel jokes or, well,_ the truth _. It was far more easy to just stay silent and neither deny nor confess, since this was one of those things that he couldn't lie to his dad about. And saying nothing would be the closest that he'd ever let himself get to coming out to his dad._

_Sighing, Burt rose from his position, and Kurt quietly released a breath he hadn't realised that he was holding._

“ _I love you, you know,” Burt mumbled, putting his hand on Kurt's shoulder and giving it a squeeze._

_He felt like crying, the lump painfully large, but instead he closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing. “I love you, too,” he whispered because if there was anything he needed his father to know, it was just that._

“ _And you will work for free in the shop for the rest of the month,” Burt added, and Kurt couldn’t help but to let out a dark chuckle._

“ _Fair enough.”_

None of them ever spoke of the things Kurt didn't say after that. Not for the lack of effort from Burt's side; God knew that the man tried absolutely _everything_ he could come up with to get Kurt to open up. But Kurt always ended up dismissing it, making all Burt's efforts turn into dust without a second thought. It was a defence mechanism so impressed into his mind that it came like breathing; he only hoped he was fooling his dad because he sure wasn't fooling himself.

He had tried _so hard_ to deny that part of himself, to change, grow into something different, but all he ever did was kiss his way through McKinley's high school girls that were brave enough to try to talk to him, starting with Ms Brittany S. Pierce. He felt disgusting thinking about it; once upon a time a kiss had been a symbol of love and pure bliss, but that was a long, long time ago, before he had realised his preference. All he needed was to take one good look at Burt to know that he could _never_ let his revelation be known. _Ever_.

If there was one trait that both the Hummels possessed though, it was stubbornness. And while Kurt had let himself think that Burt had finally given up on trying to pry him open (a realisation that caused his heart to sink a little, even though he would deny it until the end of time), Burt was merely making his next strategic move. Despite how much Kurt despised school and how often he skipped classes in order to take a smoke or just because he _felt like it_ , his grades were extraordinarily good. Perhaps it was Kurt's determination to be better than everyone else or this general thirst for knowledge (because shit could actually be interesting when dealt with in the right way) that had driven him to the top of nearly every class he took, much to his teachers and classmates dismay. That just added to the sweet taste of victory every time he got back a test with an A on it and a teacher who had tried _very_ hard to catch him in the act of cheating during this and every other test he had ever taken. Losers.

Anyway, Burt had without Kurt's knowledge obtained all his scores and grades from the school and, _without Kurt's knowledge,_ as good as gotten him a fucking scholarship on some prissy-pants all-boys school out in the middle of fucking nowhere. He only reason Kurt found out was because he had been called for an interview and as much as Burt would probably have liked to have done it for him, Kurt would have to do that one on his own. So Burt had simply told him a day beforehand everything in a simple statement: _“I'm getting you a scholarship so you can start at another school for your junior year, and they've called you for an interview. We're going there tomorrow.”_

“ _And if I refuse?” Kurt asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge._

“ _You_ will _come with me to that school. You_ will _be on your best possible behaviour, and you will make them see though all that stuff you're wearing.”_

 _Burt had probably not intended to, but small comments like that_ hurt _. Then again, it wasn't like it was the first time something like that had ever slipped Burt's mouth, and ,knowing his father, it probably wouldn't be the last either._

He had done as he was told, though; more or less because Burt had drove him to school, picked him up at his last lesson, and taken him to this new school. _Dalton Academy_ he told Kurt on the way there because Kurt didn't even know the freaking name, let alone that it took two bloody hours to get there. Then he had led the way Kurt to the headmaster's office. _Clearly he had been here before,_ Kurt thought as he watched his father walk through the corridors without any hesitation as to where they were going.

And Lord. Kurt did not fit in this environment. All the halls were deserted (Kurt was later told that they had arrived about dinner time when he first visited the school, hence the lack of students), but that gave Kurt an opportunity to look at the the interior design; classical upper-class, _American dream_ decor he reckoned, with hints of originality and not too much to make it all baroque. And don't forget the chesterfields. Kurt wanted to drop down in one of them and feel how his arse sat on a classic, glorious couch, and then pull up his dirty shoes in on the seat as soon as someone saw him just to see their facial expression. Goodness, he had already been planning acts of mischief.

The head _mistress_ , Mrs. Gardner, was a short madam with piercing brown eyes and an admittedly very nice green suit. She looked like a combination of Margaret Thatcher and Professor McGonagall, and the way she eyed Kurt's red highlights and piercings surely didn't help her to get rid of that image. But she had treated him better than he had expected, though; sounding sharp and strict but not patronizing, while still making it very clear that one does not simply mess with her. For that, she earned Kurt's respect and he bit back the comment on how she looked sort of like a dwarf across the large desk.

She had given Kurt the bottom line of what Dalton Academy was apparently all about; a zero-tolerance all-boy school with a very high average grade score, dress codes, private dorms, ten thousand different clubs and activities, something about a curfew, and about there Kurt zoomed out. If he actually _would_ enroll Prissy-Pants Hogwarts he would just read the brochure or resembling booklet that he would undoubtedly receive. The only time he actually spoke against her was when the subject of his hair colour and piercings were mentioned. Mrs. Gardner had implied that he would have to choose a more natural colour next time he dyed his hair, and he had, with a surprisingly polite manner, told her to back off. He had also mentioned at some point that his piercings weren't going anywhere unless he wished them to, but that he was willing to compromise and take them off when it was time for school photos and such if he was told in advance. She had looked at him for a moment before giving him a quick nod and then moved on, he recalled.

Burt had been beaming on their entire way home; he had obviously thought that Kurt would say something outrageous and try to destroy everything like he usually did. In all honestly, though, so had Kurt.

Two days after he finished his sophomore year, and casually walked through the back door into the kitchen after doing God remembers what, Burt had been standing there with an open letter in his hand and a gleaming look in his eyes.

“You're going to Dalton,” he said and his smile didn't even falter when Kurt asked if he wanted to bet on how long it would take before he got kicked out. So it came to be that Kurt stood in a ridiculous-looking blazer in the lobby (the damn school had a fucking _lobby_ ) one day before his junior year was about to begin, waiting for the senior that had landed himself with the joyous job of showing Kurt Elizabeth Hummel around.


	2. New Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I just want to thank you for your great response to this story; both in reviews and subscriptions and favourites etcetera - it made me really happy to find that people liked this story after only one chapter. So thank you <3
> 
> And thanks to bononoh for beta reading ^^

Wesley Montgomery walked through the corridors of Dalton, taking in all of his classmates and the boys in the years below him moving into their dormitories; the air filled of chatter as everyone talked about their oh so wonderful summers that they spent in foreign countries or with rich and powerful people or maybe both. He knew this life very well, and while he lived one himself, he couldn't help but to roll his eyes at its superficiality from time to time. While some people loved this life, Wes couldn't ignore his ache for something _a bit more real, a bit more him_.

But now wasn't the time to think about that –– he was a man on a mission.

Yesterday, when he came to the school to move into his dormitory (for the last time ever, oh Lord), he had been called to the headmistress' office. He had felt rather unsettled by it because it was common knowledge that one was only called to the headmistress' office if one had made a marvellous achievement or were in great trouble. And since his track record hasn't changed all that much over the summer; who could blame him for fearing the latter? But, as it turned out, it had been neither of the usual alternatives, instead Mrs. Gardner had asked him to simply take care of a new junior that was transferring this term. The request had taken him by surprise; sure, Mrs. Gardner had asked him to do so before, but that had been in his sophomore year and when his junior year had come around she had asked someone else instead. He had been under the impression that he wouldn't been asked again since she clearly only asked sophomore students (why, if he had to guess, was because of Dalton's huge workload and how she was being somewhat merciful on the older students) and had tried to find if there was something more to this than just simply showing a new arrival around. But Mrs. Gardner's face had been unreadable (like always), and she had been very formal and frank (like always), and, just like she always seemed to do, asked Wes to take care of this new kid.

The concept of “showing the new guy around” was more than just the practical part of _showing the new kid around_. With it came the responsibility to provide help and guidance, and a mandatory meet up every week for the first month between the transfer and his mentor (ergo the new arrival and Wes). It was something Dalton did for those who transferred, and therefore missed the the big introduction week where every boy was taught the depth of zero-tolerance, how to navigate in between the classrooms and halls and dormitories and wings, and was told that at Dalton, you better kick your study-pace up a notch or be kicked out. And these were all fine things that Wes had to make the new guy know so well that he would be capable to recite them in his sleep.

In his hand, Wes held a envelope with all the detailed information, such as dormitory number, a nice little map of the school, a timetable, a list of the school's clubs, and other important info about the school that all students ought to know. The only information Mrs. Gardner had given him about the new student was that he was here because of scholarship, as very rare as that was, and then handed him an envelope with the boy's name written neatly on it in the headmistress' writing; “Kurt E. Hummel.” He could only conclude that this Kurt Hummel was special in some way or another to have been able to get a scholarship at the school. Wes himself had only heard quite unbelievable tall stories about the last time someone with a scholarship had gone to Dalton; how this boy had to have been outrageous and very much like every stuck-up kid's preconception of a middle-class boy. He liked to take it all with a grain of salt, and just think of it all as silly because that's what it was in the end. _Silly_ jokes to make boys look down at other boys who hadn't had the possibility of an equally as luxurious upbringing. Perhaps that was why Mrs. Gardner had asked him instead of some sophomore; she somehow knew that he wouldn't look down at this Kurt Hummel like so many other students would end up doing.

He could only hope that Kurt was a strong character because zero-tolerance or not, there was a large chance that he would be tested and Wes couldn’t always be there to tell him not to take the crap that might be thrown his way.

Nothing could have prepared Wesley for the person that was Kurt Hummel.

As Wes walked into the lobby, his eyes landed on the boy leaning against a wall, a simple red and black sport bag flung over his shoulder and dressed in a Dalton uniform; his piercings and crimson red highlights so conspicuous and _odd_ together with the perfectly tied but loosely held red-and-blue tie around his neck, and how he had (against the formal dress-code) opened the first two buttons on his shirt. Wes had to blink a few times, trying to get his brain to catch up with that his eyes were telling him; a punk like _that_ at Dalton?! _What the hell was Gardner thinking?!_

Taking a deep breath, Wes braised himself and walked over to the boy.

“Kurt Hummel?” he asked and eyes that previously had been staring into space focused on him. They were like a supernova of colour; blue, green, grey with hints of light brown; and his gaze steady and strong like Wes was the one out of place and not him.

“Yes,” he answered, his voice surprisingly high-pitched, but if he noticed Wes' surprise he didn't show it.

“I'm Wesley Montgomery. I'll be showing you around the school, and act as your mentor for your first month here,” he introduced himself, reaching out with his hand. Kurt Hummel took it without a second of hesitation, not even looking at it, but instead looking Wes straight in the eyes. “Please call me Wes,” he said and tried to smile, even though it felt so utterly forced.

“Pleasure,” Kurt Hummel deadpanned. “Call me Hummel.” He let go of Wes' hand and raised a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at him like a challenge. Wes could see why Mrs. Gardner had asked him and not a poor sophomore to look after Hummel; the guy was nothing like the usual Dalton student and obviously needed to be dealt with extra caution. What he didn't see was if he should feel proud or troubled that the headmistress asked him to do it.

“Right,” Wes mumbled, trying to compose himself. “Well, I'll be showing you to your dorm. Then we'll go through your timetable, and I'll show you the way to the classrooms and general places that are good to know.”

“Like the loo?” Hummel asked, or drawled more like it.

“Like the toilet, yes. Shall we?” he motioned to start walking and Hummel pushed off the wall, his shoe against the wallpaper (much to Wes' dismay) and then let Wes lead the way, the two of them walking side by side.

Hummel did not once look like he was troubled by the silence between them and instead kept looking forward, answering every time Wes pointed out something useful like the way to the cafeteria with a quick glance and a “oh.” Nor did Hummel look at all like he even noticed all the poorly concealed looks and direct _stares_ that he got from the other students as soon as they entered the Dormitory Wing, or East Wing as it was commonly called (which he informed Hummel of and got another “oh”).

He wondered if Hummel was used to this kind of attention because he didn't falter for a second as the corridors became hushed and all movement came to a halt as he and Wes walked passed. Some part of Wes was thoroughly impressed by Kurt Hummel's ability to keep his head straight and not even blink as everyone around him was obviously whispering about him; he was going to need that if he ever was to endure his time at Dalton.

Kurt Hummel's own dorm was located at the top floor of the East Wing, at the end of a long corridor. As they reached it, Wes opened the envelope and pulled out the key to the room, handing it over to Hummel.

“There's two keys to each dorm; one for the student and one for the staff in case you lose it or in case of some emergency,” he explained.

“You mean in case Mrs. Gardner wants to take peek inside and check if any of the boys are growing marijuana in their closet?” Hummel commented before turning to unlock the door, clearly not waiting for Wes to answer him. The dorm itself looked like any dormitory did before a student moved in; clean and impersonal, with one bed, one wardrobe, one desk with a chair and a lamp and one shelf. On the wall on the right of the door, there was a window, and after throwing his bag at the bed, Hummel went forward and looked out of it. Wes also took a peek, but all he could see was the roof on the floor underneath them which was much larger in size, and then the grey-blue sky peeking up in the horizon. One could easily open the window and walk out on the roof since it was right outside he realised, and Wes thought that Hummel was thinking exactly the same thing if the tiny smile on his lips was anything to go by.

Wes cleared his throat, getting Hummel's attention (and unimpressed look) and he pulled out Hummel's timetable and the map of Dalton from the envelope before handing the rest over to the boy himself.

“I thought we'd go through your timetable and mark out your classrooms, and then it'll be just about time for dinner,” he suggested and Hummel hummed in agreement.

He couldn't help but to feel a little shocked when he saw which courses Hummel was taking; all high merited (like most of Dalton's courses were of course) but not what he had expected, though he wasn't quite sure what he had thought he'd see in the first place.

“You're talking AP French?” he asked out loud, giving Hummel a disbelieving look because forgive him for being prejudice, but this guy knew French _that_ well?

“Yes,” Hummel said and Wes would have thought he would do it defensively, but instead his manner was totally nonchalant, apart from his eyes which for a moment flamed to life with an emotion that Wes couldn't read before they too turned blank. “Why do you ask?”

“No, no, it's just that I'm taking that course, too,” Wes tried to cover it up –– God, for all he knew, Hummel could be a genius –– he couldn't judge this boy yet just based on his teenage rebellious look and odd manner, he knew next to nothing about Hummel.

“Is that so?” Hummel acted like he couldn't care less about Wes' judgemental reaction, and instead pushed away from the windowsill and started to walk towards the door.

“Yes. I know a sophomore and another junior who are taking the course as well, but apart from that there's just seniors.” Usually, Wes would have offered to help a new student with his studies on a course they would obviously be sharing it or to set up a study group for the new arrival and other students that Wes knew for the more challenging classes, but be thought better when it came to Hummel. This guy clearly didn't want Wes', or anybody else's help, and offering it at this early point would most likely only make Hummel more withdrawn. No matter if he liked Hummel or not (he actually didn't _know_ what to think of him to be honest), Wes _did_ like to tutor more or less anyone that he didn't find absolutely insufferable, and Hummel would have to do a hell of a whole lot more before he had earned that title from Wes.

Walking Hummel through his day and earning a new set of oh's, Wes let Hummel himself mark out his classrooms with a Dalton ballpoint pen that had also lied in the envelope (all students received one) and he could tell that Hummel was writing something else to each classroom but he never got a chance to see just what it was. Just like his out-of-this-world planing skills had estimated, they finished walking to the last class of Kurt's day by the time the clock turned 6 p.m. and it was time for dinner.

“Let's see if you can find your way to the Dining Hall,” Wes said and tried to give Hummel an encouraging smile and received a ghost of a grin from Hummel's otherwise indifferent expression.

“Sure.”

Sure enough, he found the quickest way to the hall. Wes was surprised to find that Hummel led the way through corridors that Wes hadn't showed him. Perhaps the boy had a natural affinity to read maps and orient –– or he had walked here before. Wes couldn't tell, and he decided that it was for the best that he didn't know.

As they entered the Dining Hall, Wes explaining how it all worked; Dalton students could choose between three alternatives, whereas one was always vegetarian or sometimes even vegan, and free sitting around the hall; dinner between the hours of six to eight, otherwise students were directed to the East Wings own little kitchen (hardly ever used). Hummel nodded in understanding and then choose the salmon dish that was served today.

But then came the real problem. Where were they going to sit?

If the circumstances had been different, if _Hummel_ had been different, then Wes wouldn't hesitate to lead him to a table with one of his own friends and classmates, but as it was he couldn't be sure how Hummel would react since the boy hardly gave him anything to work with. He could see Hummel eyeing him, most possibly aware that Wes was making a judgement call and just waiting for the verdict. In the end Wes decided that he couldn't just jump to conclusions because of Hummel's six visible piercings (Wes _really_ wondered how Hummel managed to get away with those).

“So, would you like us to sit alone or is it fine with you if we sit with some of friends? I thought you might find it nice to talk to other people than me your first day here, but then again you might as well like to take it slow,” he said in the end.

“So you're not going to let me eat my dinner alone?” Hummel asked, tilting his head a little too the side but giving nothing away of what he was thinking.

Wes didn't really know how to answer Hummel's question, though, and he found himself frowning before it dawned to him that Hummel had expected him to leave him here in the hall and go and eat dinner with his friends. Oh.

“Well, of course not, unless you ask me to,” Wes insisted because, well, he actually meant it. “My friends know I'm showing you around and have probably saved seats for both of us, but it's your choice if you want to sit there.”

Something close to a smile appeared on Hummel's face and shrugged. “Why not? Show the way.”

Just like Wes promised there were two empty chairs next to each other around the small, round table and Hummel looked completely at ease as he settled down next to Wes, unlike everyone else around the table seemed to be.

“Everyone,” Wes said, calling his friends' attention, and, in some cases, as an attempt to keep them from staring at Hummel, “this is Kurt Hummel. Kurt, this is Nick, Jeff, Trent and Johathan,” Wes introduced, going around the table, starting at Nick in the other side of Hummel. He knew that he was ignoring Hummel's request to be called by his last name, but at the same time Wes knew that pushing everyone an arm length further away from himself was not going to help Hummel. Kurt E. Hummel could be Hummel in Wes' mind, but right now he was trying to get this boy accepted.

“Hello,” Hummel said and glanced over each and everyone of the Warblers, looking as indifferent as ever as he received four hesitant greetings in return.

“You're the talk of the school; pleased to make your acquaintance,” Nick (bless the boy) broke the ice with a smile and held out his hand for Hummel to shake.

Wes may or may not have held his breath as he waited for Hummel's reaction, but as soon as Hummel accepted the hand he let himself relax a little.

“I can imagine I am,” Hummel answered.

“Nick is the other junior that I mentioned who are taking AP French this year with you,” Wes supplied to the conversation and he could see both Jeff and Trent's eyes widen at the information that Hummel knew French well enough for that class, but Nick –– really, _bless him_ –– just smiled even wider.

“Oh, really? Nice to know that I can team up with you then for a assignments, otherwise I would be stuck with either Wes or Sebastian, I reckon,” he joked. Hummel raised an eyebrow in question as he took a bite of his dinner.

“We're all part of the Warblers and tend to help each other out in classes, but having three when you're gonna work in pairs tends to not quite work out,” Nick explained, and Jeff, on Nick's other side, smiled like he remembered something.

“Warblers?”

It was like someone turned on the lights, because suddenly everyone at the table were all smiling proudly.

“It's Dalton's glee club,” Jeff said, who had apparently overcome his temporary hesitation and gone back to the chatty boy that he was. “In fact, a part from you, we're all members of the club, Wes is even our captain.”

“I'm not a captain, because there isn't such a title as a 'Captain of the Warblers,'” Wes said, getting very tired of this conversation. “I'm the chairman of the Warblers counsel, and that's a completely different thing.”

“But you're still the one who gets the final word about what we do, and you won't even let anyone else touch the gavel,” Johathan argued and Wes shot him a dirty look.

“Because it's the chairman's gavel; it's a tradition that has been held up for generations, and it's a tradition that won't cease under my watch.”

“So how does the Warblers counsel work then?” Hummel asked, tipping his head to the side and looking at Wes with a gaze that could pass as interested, but also as bored.

“Well there's three people on the counsel. The chairman gets elected at the beginning of every year –– ”

“ –– and dearest Wes had been that chairman for two years in a row now, and he'll most definitely be it this year, too,” Jeff interrupted with a grin on his face.

“ –– _and the other_ two seats are filled by two other Warblers that are replaced throughout the year so that everyone gets a say in what the Warblers do; thank you, Jeff.”

“No problem.”

“So it's only the three people on the council that decide what the club does?” Hummel asked.

“Well, no, anyone gets to voice their opinions, such as song selections and who gets the solos. The council merely cuts down the choices before it's all settled through a vote, and sometimes the council makes smaller dictions regarding choreography and small performances here at Dalton, etcetera.”

“And everyone gets to be in the council?”

“Can't force the boys who don't wish to, but yes, everyone will get a chance to.”

“And you have a permanent position there once elected?”

“Yes, but if the majority of the Warblers are unhappy with my contribution to the club a re-election can be hosted.”

“Hardly _ever_ happens,” Trent said.

“So you're basically there,” Hummel began, “controlling whatever the club does, even though you say it's a democracy you still narrow down the choices to the ones you find most suitable, and while you have two others who also get a say you're still the only one who's opinion will always be a third of the final agreement and decision. I'd say you're the captain.” He offered Wes a borderline teasing smile while the others burst into laughter, Johathan chuckling “oh, he got you,” to Wes who wasn't pleased. At all.

“Well, I'm not, and that's that,” he said sternly, wanting this conversation to be over.

Hummel kept quiet throughout the rest of the dinner, only spoke when spoken to and while both Jeff and Johathan tried to drag him into the conversation several times, his answers were short, nondescript, and sort of like he was pushing in sticks into a wheel of the bike on which the conversation rode, effectively making it fall over and stopping it to continue on its journey. Soon even they gave up and Hummel kept to himself, eating his food and observing really. When his plate was empty, he asked where one disposed of the tray and when Wes asked if he wanted to be walked to his room, Hummel replied that he was a big boy, and even had a map to guide him. And then said a soft, but strangely polite “goodbye” to everyone before walking away.

Wes tried not to marvel over this boy; he was clearly intelligent, yet he thought in patterns that Wes wasn't used to seeing, and his manner was polite and impeccable on one side but mischievous on the other. He was quite a character Wes reckoned, and not your everyday hooligan blowing up toilets and planting stink-bombs in the headmistress office. Though, if Wes was perfectly honest with himself, he could actually see Hummel doing just those things. At the end of the day, Wes concluded that he had a month and four mandatory sessions (although they might turn into more if Hummel need it) to get to know him a little better.

* * *

Later that evening, when Wes was pulling out a clean shirt for his first school day tomorrow and hanging it neatly over his chair, there was a knock on his door.

“Come in,” he called, mind raising through the possibilities of who it could be. As it turned out, it was Sebastian Smythe, who opened the door with a confident smirk on his face and stepped inside Wes' dorm without hesitation, closing the door after him.

“Hi, Wes; excited about tomorrow I see?”

“Can't wait,” Wes said sarcastically. “Had a good summer?” It was all standard procedure this; _Hi, how are you, well thank you, yes I had a great summer in wherever_ and. so. on. Sebastian knew it, too, perhaps it came like a second nature to him just like it did to Wes, and instead of just cutting to the case he exchanged a few pointless words. But there was no doubt in his mind whatsoever that Sebastian didn't want something from him.

“Fantastique,” Sebastian said. “But that's not what I came to chat about; I noticed during dinner that Dalton has a new arrival.”

“Ah, yes, Kurt Hummel,” Wes confirmed, going back to what he was doing –– getting ready for tomorrow, now sorting out his school bag and which books and notepads he should bring. “You're going to have French with him.”

“Really?” Sebastian asked, looking surprised but strangely pleased with the knowledge. “Think he’s any good?”

“I really couldn't tell you, and I spent the afternoon with him, which is more than he granted the rest of the school, I'd say.”

“Is that so... You know if he's single then?” Sebastian tilted his head to the side, chuckling when Wes turned towards him and glared at him. For some part, Wes could appreciate Sebastian's blunt manner from time to time, more than that, actually, if it hadn't been for the fact that the boy was awfully one track minded. Wes could only pray that Sebastian would one day put his head to greater use than the task it was currently serving up to.

“I do not know, you'll have to ask him yourself, Sebastian.” He looked up at the boy, giving him a tired look before going back to his school books.

“But, Wesley, you really have to check up on these things, you know, and make life easier for a fellow Warbler,” he said in faux lecturing manner, like he was talking to a child. Wes did not like it.

“I'll take that into consideration next time someone that catches your eye starts at the school,” Wes deadpanned, really wanting an end to this conversation so he could go to bed.

“Wes, do you even have _eyes_?” Sebastian pushed in a melodramatic fondness. “He's like a walking bad-arse wet dream and you're _surprised_ that I came to get whatever info I could before pursuing?”

“Yes, I should have known better, knowing you, but not everyone’s brain-activity revolves around sex and where to get it.”

With a snort, Sebastian shook his head. “What is it like in your miserable, little brain? Anyway, I'm off, thanks and sleep tight.”

“You too.”

Once Sebastian was gone, Wes let himself ponder over what Hummel's reaction to him might be. The only thing he realised was that he didn't have a clue.

* * *

Finally alone and locked up in his dorm, Kurt let himself relax and _breathe_. It felt like he hadn't gotten air into his lungs ever since he stepped out of his car earlier.

He really didn't know what he had expected of it all, so he couldn't tell if he should be glad of how it turned out once he had gotten here. Wes had been okay enough, or well, he hadn't been an utter snobbish arsehole, and his informative manner seemed a bit dull to Kurt –– that voice of his would be anaesthetizing, but he hadn't gotten on Kurt's nerves like he strongly suspected that some of these boys and teachers would. Tomorrow was the big test, though; this has merely been a preview to test the waters –– and for every boy in the dorms to see him.

From his perspective, upper and lower classes were all the same; judging, gossiping, reluctant towards anything that didn't apply to their norm or whose background didn't fill their requirements. McKinley had wanted cut out stereotypes of every teenage film ever made; beautiful, moral, backstabbing, 'anyone can make it but you got to have a certain status and that is just given to the naturals' and all that superficial hard work-crapp. Dalton required wealthy family backgrounds, tradition, two faced 'upper class, we're fine and exclusive, but we're still backstabbing bitches'. Kurt was just so sick of a world where he would have to _work_ in order to get accepted and display himself like a contestant on a freaking beauty pageant where only artificial things that could be regarded as assets –– looks, credit card, always saying that peace on earth was the ultimate wish –– were the only things that mattered. If one didn't look a certain way or didn't come from a certain place in society or heavens forbid, _didn't wish_ for peace on earth because it sounded fucking cheesy and pathetic and not to mention unrealistic, then you were doomed. Curse anyone of being different than the role model.

Kurt wasn't interested in things like that, and, as a result, he withdrew himself to where he was absolutely certain that no one could tell him that he did wrong in thinking or looking the way he did. He liked himself, was used to his own company, and the only time one really was oneself was when alone anyway. He _knew_ that he could never change the core of his personality in order to fit in –– goodness knew he had tried –– and he had come to accept this. He just didn't expect anyone else to. Not Wes who had been nice, not Mrs. Gardner who seemed to treat everyone equally, not any of Wes' bird-friends who had all been polite but rather boring, and _especially_ not his dad. Fuck, Burt who really knew him the best; yet, sometimes it felt like he knew next nothing about Kurt and even now, Kurt almost felt like he didn't know his dad either. Because what the hell did Burt think sending him here would do?! Yet, he had accepted it, mostly for Burt, and had packed his bag and simply waited for the whole thing to blow over like every one of Burt's attempts to straighten him out did.

Feeling restless, Kurt dug through his bag before finding his already open cigarette package (he had three more, just in case) and then went to open his window. Wes had said no smoking in the building, but if he was _on top_ of it, he wasn't really breaking the rules now was he? So he climbed out on the roof and walked a couple steps away from the window before finally sitting down, pulling out the lighter which he conveniently kept inside the package, too, and lit a fag. He didn't actually like to smoke inside the same place he lived, to be honest –– don't shit where you eat, and all that –– and the night air was a refreshing change to inside the Dalton Academy. Or perhaps it was just his imagination.


	3. First Impressions

Despite what one might think, Kurt hated to be late. Always had, always would. To him, it was a matter of show up on time or don't show up at all, and, therefore, when he actually wanted (or was half forced) to be somewhere, he would make sure to be there on time.

So when Wes had informed him that breakfast was promptly held between the hours of 6:30 to 8:00 in the morning (and 7:00 to 10:00 on weekends for those who stayed at the dorms instead of going home), Kurt had set his alarm so that he would have plenty of time to get ready before he heard a knock on the door.

“Good morning; sleep well?” Wes asked when Kurt opened the door and greeted him with a smile, seeming happy to find that Kurt was dressed and ready to go. How the hell could the guy seem so awake and cheerful at this hour?

“It's not a good morning until I’ve had my first cup of coffee,” Kurt deadpanned because it was so freaking true. “After that it has the potential of being a good morning, but usually only end up being an average morning.”

Wes chuckled at his statement as they started walking. “Well there is nothing wrong with just an average morning.”

“Perhaps. But I still need coffee.”

Wes didn't try to talk to him the rest of the way to the Dining Hall, which Kurt silently appreciated. He was in no way a morning person despite his stubbornly enforced habit to wake up early in order to have enough time to go through his morning routine without being hurried. The one thing he hated more than his drained mind before coffee was to be stressed.

As they entered the Hall, Wes pointed him in the direction to the table with the two coffee machines and Kurt thanked him before he took a place in the blissfully short line. With his mind simply consumed by boredom, waiting for the goddamn line to _move_ , Kurt found himself looking at the back of guy standing before him. He was a rather short boy, with dark-brown hair with was gelled down like a helmet on top of his head and for what Kurt would tell, it didn't look _bad_ , but gelled hair never looked particularly great either. But by the way this boy seemed to pull of Dalton Academy’s school uniform (Kurt couldn't be sure, he needed to get a better overview before making a proper judgement), Kurt would say that he looked nice. Just looked, though, because if anyone knew that looks could deceive it was Kurt, being a walking example of it himself.

Just then, the boy in front of him decided to look over his shoulder for some reason, and Kurt watched the boy's reaction towards him; his face which turned from blank to surprised before finally a bright smile spread across his face. What was with these Dalton boys? Where they all on some drug or something?! This was the second smile he had received within half an hour; what was _wrong_ with people?!

“Oh, you're the new arrival,” the boy said, turning around completely and greeting Kurt, outstretched hand and all.

“Yeah...” The boy’s reaction upon seeing him was most definitely a strange one, Kurt thought, as he took the outstretched hand slowly, shaking it. “Kurt Hummel.”

“No need telling me that,” the boy said in a chuckle. “The whole school knows your name, and I have to say, you're rather easy to identify.”

“Well here perhaps, back in my old school I was just another face,” Kurt offered and felt rather nice about himself when the boy laughed.

“I guess, the uniform does make it hard to be original. I'm Blaine Anderson, by the way.”

“Well, Blaine Anderson, the line just moved.”

True to his words, Kurt was one step closer to preventing a disastrous morning as Blaine turned around and took a step forward, but Kurt also wasn't really sure that this morning would turn into either average or good. It would turn into something, that he was certain about as Blaine turned to talk to him once more.

“What do you think of Dalton so far?” he asked and Kurt resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Hard to say, I arrived only yesterday and classes haven't even started yet.” Much to his surprise, Blaine chuckled.

“I guess you have a point,” he said. “So where do you come from?”

“Lima.”

“Really? I've been there; got a great coffee shop –– ”

“The Lima Bean,” Kurt said before Blaine could breathe another work.

“Yeah! Know it?”

“Please,” Kurt drawled before letting himself smile a little. “I wouldn't stand behind you here as the first thing I do in the morning if I didn't value my coffee. Of course I know where the best place to get my coffee in my own freaking hometown is.” For a moment, a panic flashed over Blaine's face like he feared that he had offended Kurt in some way, and really, it was it was sort of amusing.

They reached the to the front just then and Blaine poured himself a cup before handing the can over to Kurt who accepted it with a soft “thank you”.

“I'll guess I'll see you around, then,” Blaine said, his smile a bit hesitant, but looking rather sincere nevertheless.

“Yes, well, you'll spot me in the crowd, that's for sure,” Kurt replied, tilting his head and smirked a little.

“Hope you don't mind if I say 'hi' to you in the corridor then...”

“If you need my permission to greet me, then sure you have it.”

“Brilliant,” Blaine said, his smile back at full force now. “Catch you later.” And with a wave, Blaine turned and was drawn into the sea of blazer-boys, disappearing mysteriously like when a water drop becomes a part of the ocean. Or really, he didn't, Kurt could still see Blaine when he walked up to Wes and they went to get breakfast (Wes drank tea and only tea in the morning, that sore loser –– “it is far more enjoyable,” he claimed), but no one had to know that Kurt liked to imagine things like that inside his head. Just like no one had to know that he had made the map over Dalton's grounds into his personal Marauder's Map.

Breakfast was like dinner had been. Not too interesting. Not that it was exactly the same people that he was sitting this this time around; Wes and that raven-haired guy that had started talking to him first and the super-blond one that was very bubbly was at the table together with some new faces with names attached to them and Kurt registered in the back of his brain and would remember when he had to –– but right now he didn't, so he wouldn't.

Then the first period arrived. Kurt walked into the classroom to his first class for the rest of the year (lest he got kicked out) –– Calculus –– and looked at the teacher up and down. He was a considerably young man, thirty-something, with rat-coloured hair in a new-trimmed cut that suited his long face rather well, and he wrote a dark-brown suit together with a even darker tie, only highlighted by the sharp contrast of his white dress shirt. He gave each an equally indifferent look when the boys entered the classroom one by one, and Kurt settled somewhere further back in the classroom –– the strategic spot that he preferred. The classroom was more like a lecture hall than an actual classroom, with long tables for the students to sit behind that rose up from the floor like a staircase. And on each seat, there laid a small pile of blank paper which Kurt didn't even have to examine to know had a test printed on the other side.

“Good morning, boys,” the teacher started the class with, his eyes wandering over the classroom, looking at each of his students without really taking notice of any of them. “I am Mr. Mendelson, and welcome to a new year here at Dalton. As some of you might know, but most of you most likely don't, this first lesson with be rather short. The reason to that,” he said as he started to pace back and forth a little, his voice soft and rather boring, “is because I want to see what kind of level you are on from the start. To take this class I do require some basic knowledge.” Now he completely stopped walking and stopped behind his desk. “You have the rest of the lesson to go the test lying in front of you, but out of experience, I will say that if you are not done within the first forty-five minutes of this lesson, this Calculus class might not be for you. Don't forget to write your name down, boys.” With that, Mr. Mendelson sat down behind his desk and around him, boys turned their tests and threw themselves into the examination. The boy next to Kurt was almost annoyingly nervous it seemed, his whole person almost trembling as he wrote down his name in a hurry before quickly skimming through the questions, his moves edgy and sharp as he turned pages and reached into his bag for a ruler or something.

Kurt himself took it easy, reading through and answering the questions one by one. The test was only a few pages anyway, and most of it filled with empty space, meant for the student to fill out with their explanations leading up to the solutions for each problem. And while the jumpy guy next to Kurt wrote everything down on a scrap of paper before trying to re-write it all neatly onto the test, Kurt simply mused out loud, solving it all directly into the paper. He didn't think too much about it really, just writing down whatever and tried to make it readable. Not that he didn't have a nice handwriting –– as a matter of fact, Kurt Hummel's handwriting was flawless –– but he had taken the habit of always writing a bit sloppy, sometimes even close to unreadable, just to annoy his teachers. It was almost fun when he once handed in a test in. Social Studies, he thinks it was, but either way he had written the test very neatly and the teacher had tried to bust him for somehow cheating by copying someone else’s test or something. It had all went down to that Kurt had to sit in Principal Figgins' office, and under the watchful eyes and the teacher and Coach Sylvester (who somehow had made herself a part of this interrogation), write and prove that the test was in his handwriting. Then, when he was asked why he didn't write like that all the time, he had simply smirked and shrugged, like he didn't know.

This Calculus test landed somewhere on the border in between the neat, yet not flawless style he had been brought into question for, and a sloppy writing that was still very much readable but not the prettiest perhaps. Feeling done with his test, and seeing that he had been sitting with it for about twenty minutes, Kurt put his pen back in his bag and rose from his seat. He knew that some other genius boys had already handed in their tests, two students or so had he seen, but every head still flew up when the sound of his chair being pushed back filled the room. Their judging glares bore through him as he walked up to Mr. Mendelson's desk, placing it on top of the small pile that had already been formed.

“Thank you,” Mr Mendelson said, looking up from a test that he was already checking and gave Kurt a small smile. Kurt simply shrugged and was just about to walk away when his teacher's small voice spoke again. “Didn't catch your name though, and neither did the paper it seems.”

Yes indeed, Kurt found that he had completely forgotten to write his name down on the test, and he swiftly pulled up a pencil and wrote it down from where he was standing, writing it upside down. “Now then. Bye, sir,” he said and then he was on his way out –– he had a bit more than half an hour to spare before his next class. He was so going out on the roof for a cigarette.

* * *

As he stepped into his next lesson, Kurt didn't think too much about what was awaiting him; the classroom looked just like Mr. Mendelson's, the only difference being that it was on the opposite side of the school, which apparently the morning sun couldn't reach and left the whole classroom some kind of gloomy atmosphere. Was it always going to be like this for the rest of the year? The teacher for the class, who was already present and sitting behind her desk, sent an angry glare Kurt's way as he groaned and damped down in an empty seat as close to the windows that he could possibly manage; at least he would be able to stare out at the world outside in hope to catch some sunlight.

Much like Kurt had estimated when he first laid eyes on his Psychology teacher; a short, thin, sharp-looking woman named Mrs. Zielinski, with sand-blond hair that could use some caressing (or a hair mask) and a pair of squared glasses; she was a prejudice and judgemental woman. Within five minutes after the lesson had started, she was right-out dismissing just about half the class' capabilities and claimed that there were very few who would ever understand the depths of the human mind, but that this wasn't an excuse for any of her pupils to slack off in her classroom. She had glared at Kurt when she said that and he met her eyes with a blank look because he _really_ couldn't care less. She was nothing in comparison to what he had gotten thrown at him before.

After the lesson ended and he hadn't learned a _thing_ , he took himself to the last class before lunch. World History. It was almost worth an award of some sort, he thought to himself as he walked the corridors filled with blazers –– disaster had yet to occur and he was almost half through his day. Really, the universe owned him a cup of coffee.

Smiling slightly to himself at the thought as he settled down at the first, best chair he stumbled upon.

“You seem to have come from a good lesson,” a recognisable voice said beside him, and Kurt looked up to see Blaine Anderson sitting down in the empty chair next to him.

“Not really,” he said, but he couldn't keep a small smile off his face at the sight of the other boy. He seemed pleasant enough, and further more, he just talked to Kurt, which was more than he had ever expected from most of these Dalton boys.

“Oh, how come?” Blaine asked, his rather thick eyebrows shooting up a little.

“You know Mrs. Zielinski?”

Blaine's reaction was immediate, and it didn't disappoint either as his face crinkled into something between a understanding frown and a pout. “Had her last year –– it was the worst class I've had to endure since middle school.”

“She wasn't too bad,” Kurt offered, and really, he didn't wish to give Mrs. Zielinski shit for being a horrid teacher when she was merely an ant-fart in comparison to the teachers he had at McKinley. “Had worse.”

“I see... Well we're gonna have Mrs. Wimberly now and she's nice enough; one of my friends had her last year.”

“That's assuring,” Kurt mumbled and couldn't tell himself if he was being sarcastic or not. Perhaps a bit of both.

Mrs. Wimberly walked in just then, and she looked like the stereotypical, kind, old lady that one should help over the street. She had short, grey hair and rather large glasses, but her clothes were neither gray nor boring, and fitted her rather well. It was evident that this was a lady who aged with style. As she launched the class into an introduction to what they were going to do the following couple of weeks, mercifully overlooking Dalton's latest addition, Kurt felt himself sinking lower and lower in his seat, like a natural reaction. Only when Blaine gently spoke to him did he realise that he was on the verge of falling asleep.

“Didn't sleep that well last night?” Blaine asked in a whisper, Kurt looking up from where he was half lying across the table, but not making a move to sit up straight.

“I slept just fine,” Kurt replied, even though it wasn't actually true. But it was not like he would admit that to his father even, and most certainly not to a boy he met just this morning.

“Well, you look like you're about to fall asleep right now,” Blaine pointed out helpfully.

“Probably because I am.”

Blaine gave him a critical look, like he wasn't at all pleased with Kurt's answer, but he pressed his mouth into a thin line and gave Kurt one last glance before looking back at Mrs. Wimberly and then taking a note about something she said –– something about writing a report on something, and Kurt should probably listen to this he reckoned, but oh well. Teachers had the tendency to remind their students about important things just before the bell rang anyway, and Blaine looked nice enough to tell Kurt exactly what he missed if Kurt ever asked, so it was probably chill.

He dozed off somewhere around here, listening to Mrs. Wimberly's steady voice and feeling Blaine as well as some other students shoot him looks at the back of his neck as he he was sinking deeper into his arms which made an excellent pillow. Well, _excuse him_ , but just listening and taking notes wasn't his thing, thankyouverymuch. Kurt was much more of a practical sort of guy –– looking up facts by himself, reading and finding, and he could do that whenever he wanted to, in class as well as two in the morning (which was approximately the time that his magic worked the best anyway), so why try to pay attention to something that he _knew_ would go in through one ear just to fly out of the other? No thanks.

Then someone was poking him gently and he had to blink a few times before he regained enough contentiousness to realise where he was and that Blaine was trying to get his attention because the class was ending. He hummed a “Thanks,” and Blaine just gave him a small smile and oh, there was Mrs. Wimberly saying saying:

“... and don't forget to hand the six-page report on Ancient Rome's rise and fall by Thursday...” and there it was. So he didn't need to ask Blaine after all. Mrs Wimberly dismissed them and the classroom filled with shatter and chairs clattering as boys rose and hurried to their lunch break. Slowly, Kurt put back the school supplies that he didn't use, just quickly scrambling down a note about the report so that he wouldn't forget it, before shoving his notepad down his bag, too. Then he looked up to find Blaine still there, and goodness, if that wasn't a surprise for Kurt.

It probably showed on his expression too, because Blaine gave him an apologetic smile before he spoke. “I was just thinking,” the dapper boy began, “since it's lunch and you probably don't know that many people, if you would like to have lunch with me and my friends?”

“Oh...” was all that Kurt managed because _that_ was a surprise. In the back of his mind, he had planned his lunch to be something by himself, outside it if was warm enough or in a corner of the Dining Hall where no one would bother him, but most definitely above all, him eating _alone_.

His little pause stretched out for too long though, it seems, because Blaine started to ramble, “You don't have to if you don't feel like it of course, I mean you might have someone else you'd like to eat with or –– ” and Kurt just chuckled at him.

“It's fine, thanks for the consideration,” Kurt said. “It would be nice to have lunch with you and your friends.”

Blaine's face lit up in an instance and he sort of looked like a puppy being offered a stake; overjoyed by the mere idea. “Fantastic,” he said and started walking, Kurt following him by his side. “But just so you know, my friends and I are all a part of the school’s show choir so the conversation might definitely stir into the subject of song choices or something like that...”

“I've already been formally introduced to the Warblers, thanks, Wes is my mentor,” Kurt offered and Blaine replied with a giggle.

“Forgot about that, actually,” he said. “You probably know that despite being well-mannered boys, the whole school is gossiping about you already.”

“I expected as much, but I have to say that the Dalton boys hide it much better than the peers in my other school did.”

“Oh, really, how did they act?”

“The average teenage film kind of way, you know, the whole corridor going quiet and everyone staring at you, outrageous rumours that are never true but too funny to prove that they're false, people thinking that I’m terrifying because of said rumours, and all that.” Blaine's eyes were wide as they started back at Kurt, and all he said to unspoken question of _'what the hell?!'_ in Blaine's eyes was: “I went to a public school.”

“I actually also went to a public school once, but, er, pulled out because of circumstances,” Blaine said, sounding far more serious than ever before. For some reason, Kurt didn't want to hear it, at least not now; he didn't wish for a heart to heart with a guy he met this morning (even though said guy was unbelievably cute and nice and dapper). Kurt didn't like to get close to people and just _know_ stuff about them. It made him feel like he had some sort of responsibility, and he most certainly didn't see himself as a reliable character, so he just spared people before it got to that point. And that included Blaine.

“I see,” he said before Blaine could continue. “My dad filed a scholarship without my knowledge to here because he thought I needed a change of environment.”

“You must get damn good grades if you managed to get a scholarship _here_. Dalton doesn't have that many students that get in because of that –– mostly it's just boys with parents who can afford the tuition.”

“Well Einstein was rubbish in school, too, and look at him,” Kurt said jokingly and Blaine laughed good naturedly as they reached the Dining Hall, so that was nice.

“Touché,” Blaine said as they walked inside and settled in the queue for food. Once again there were three dishes to choose from, and once again there were a bunch of students staring at him as he ordered vegetarian dish this time (because he didn't particularly like tuna and had bad experiences with chicken that other people had cooked –– and by ‘other people’ he meant his father). Blaine then lead him to a table with some recognisable and some strange faces. Kurt settled down beside Wes who happened to be there because, damn it all, he was a safe person to sit next to.

“Hi, Kurt, I see you've met Blaine,” Wes greeted with a smile that looked relieved if anything, though Kurt could only guess why.

“Yes, we bumped into each other this morning and then it turned out that we share World History together,” Blaine said brightly and Kurt only hummed in confirmation. “Where is Jeff, by the way?”

“Bas dragged him into a lunch meeting with parts of the lacrosse team because apparently the guy is more determined than ever to win the league this year, now that he was voted captain of the team,” Nick explained (Kurt actually still remembered him) and beside Kurt, Wes nodded determinedly.

“Well he's got the right attitude I have to say –– as for us, the Warblers _will_ get to national this year,” Wes stated. Then the whole conversation launched into a debate about show choir strategies of all things and Blaine shot him an apologetic look across the table at one point, but that's pretty much all Kurt remembered of his lunch. The English class that followed after lunch also passed without much fuss, one of the boys from the school’s glee club walked with him to the class because apparently they shared it, but the short boy said nothing after Kurt shot down his first attempt to a conversation and then sat down in the front of the classroom while Kurt, per usual, took a seat in the back. The lesson itself uneventful, and his Human Anatomy class that followed was equally as stimulant (ergo not even close to making Kurt interested). The only thing worth actually mentioning about Human Anatomy was that it was more or less on the other side of Dalton, meaning that Kurt would have to hurry if he wanted to make it on time, and it was just the simple fact that it was his first day at Dalton that made him not skip the class because of that sheer bother.

But his last class of the day was admittedly the one he was looking forward to the most: AP French. The French classes offered McKinley were bad, pathetic jokes and Kurt felt like suffocating himself with the help of rudders which he would collect and shovel down his throat, slow and painfully cutting of his airways –– an urge he got whenever he just happened to _glance_ at the brainless jocks around the classroom. Needless to say, he skipped most of his French classes. But, _but_ –– _hopefully_ , Dalton could offer him a challenge and teach him something new; he would probably still sleep through the lessons, sure, but the standard of the course would, if his wishes were to be answered, would be higher as a whole.

Some part of his mind should have realised that by sharing a class with Wes meant that the boy would be waiting for him –– and there he was, standing there outside the classroom together with Nick and another, tall and rather handsome guy that Kurt didn't recognise.

“Perfect timing, Kurt, class starts soon.” Wes greeted with a smile and Kurt really had to ask him at some point why he insisted on calling him 'Kurt,' but perhaps not right now. “Anyway,” Wes continued, “this is Sebastian, the other Warbler I was telling you about yesterday.”

Kurt took in the new boy in front of him –– his obnoxious smirk and prep-boy hair and that gleam that this Sebastian seemed to have in his eyes like he somehow had Kurt all figured out. He most definitely seemed like one of these annoying, high-class douchebags that Kurt had just gone around, waiting all day to bump into. Well hip hurray, here we go.

Sebastian reached out to shake his hand and Kurt answered the shake, smiling sarcastically back at the boy (damn him for being a tiny bit taller than Kurt) and saying “Pleasure,” because it certainly wasn't.

“Oh, I hope so,” Sebastian chuckled and Kurt gave him an unimpressed glance before letting his hand go and walking into the classroom because _really_. Kurt had barely known this boy for a minute, and he could already tell that this Sebastian was most likely everything that his exterior gave him off to be. This was just _lovely_ , Kurt thought as Wes suggested that they sat down in four empty seats somewhere in the middle of the classroom and Kurt wound up sitting next to Wes and the prep-boy.

“So how were your afternoon classes, then?” Wes asked and Kurt gave him a shrug.

“Boring?” he said and it didn't really mean to come out as a suggestion but nevermind now that it did. Wes didn't look pleased with Kurt's answer and beside him, Sebastian gave out a chuckle, if it was because of Kurt's answer or the face Wes made, Kurt didn't know.

“Why is that?” Wes pushed and Kurt was getting tired of this conversation.

“Because they were not able to awaken any kind of interest in me and therefore, by definition, were boring.” Maybe it was a bit bitchy to say, but Kurt _was_ bitchy, it was in his genes and even though Wes was... an acceptable conversation partner, Kurt wouldn't just change his habit because he didn't hate the guy and planned to turn him into a ginger whilst he was sleeping. Wes looked like he had something more to add, though, but their French teacher walked into the classroom just then and Kurt looked her up and down while Wes closed his mouth.

She was about Mr. Mendelson's age Kurt reckoned, thin with dark-brown hair in a ponytail, beige and rather boring clothes, a pair of glasses pushed up her nose and a sour expression like she had just bitten a lemon, and carrying a blue cup with what appeared to be green tea judging by the little label from a tea bag hanging over the edge.

“ _Good day, class. My name is Mademoiselle Dufour, and first and foremost, I would like to remind you all that as soon you step inside this classroom there is only one language that we speak and that is French._ ” Oh Lord, she was that kind of sickeningly annoying teacher that treated her students like idiots if they didn't fit into her mental image of how to be. “ _I also know that some of you aren't seniors but have somehow managed to get into this class, and I just want to point out that there will be no special treatment just because you are younger, and if any student, no matter which grade you are, fails to take achieve what I ask of you, then this might not be the class for you._ ” The atmosphere in the room was changed right there and then because of her words, the boys becoming stiff and a tiny bit offended. Beside him, Kurt could see Sebastian clenching his jaw at Mademoiselle Dufour's words and oh, that's right, Sebastian was a sophomore who managed to wiggle his way into the AP class, so it was not only Kurt Mademoiselle Dufour was insulting by questioning his capability. The Mademoiselle seemed unfazed by it though and simply continued talking. “ _Now, the first thing I want you to do is to simply tell me your name and something about yourself._ ” She put on a strained smile and motioned for a boy in the front to start talking.

Slow but steadily each and every boy in the class said their name and something about themselves just as instructed. The “something about themselves” part turned out to be a short sentence of insignificant things like _'I enjoy playing basketball'_ or _'I'm really good at video games'_ and it felt like freaking freshman year with 'Hi, my name is Kurt, I like poke people with sticks and my favourite colour is purple,' or something. It didn't surprise Kurt at all that he was dosing off after five boys or so, but suddenly there was an elbow to his right and he opened his eyes and looked at Wes who seemed to have elbowed him. Before he could properly glare, Sebastian spoke beside him in a soundly flawless accent.

“ _My name is Sebastian F. Smythe, and I may be the youngest student in this class, but I speak far better French than the majority of you all,_ ” he said with an arrogant tone and gave the teacher a smirk as she frowned at him. Then he turned his smirk to Kurt, as if to challenge him to say something better. Challenge accepted, Kurt thought and gave Sebastian a small smirk of his own as he straightened up in his seat and turned to look at Mademoiselle Dufour.

“ _I'm Kurt Hummel and I find it ridiculous that some people believe that the extent of a student's intelligence is purely based on our date of manufacture._ ” For a moment Mademoiselle Dufour simply stared at him with wide eyes, sort of like a goldfish, like she couldn’t believe what she just heard. Then she found herself again and broke eye-contact with him, looking almost murderously at Wesley who quickly rasped out a sentence about being a part of the Warblers before moving on to Nick, pointedly ignoring Kurt's jab. Beside him, Sebastian chuckled and Kurt gave him an unimpressed look that was meant to be a simple glance, but Sebastian held his gaze. His eyes were surprisingly green and would perhaps have been attractive if they weren't a part of that obnoxious smirk.

“ _So I guess there_ is _a reason why you are here,_ ” Sebastian said in a small voice and Kurt didn't know if the guy was trying to provoke him or if he just was that much of a oblivious snob.

“ _You think I just signed up to this class just to rile people up?_ ” Kurt deadpanned.

“ _I think you have the capability to pull that off outside of class just fine,_ ” Sebastian chuckled and that smirk was really getting on Kurt's nerves. Who did this guy think he was anyway? Kurt wouldn't question his intelligence because clearly Sebastian Smythe was bright; but his attitude however was in serious need of improvement.

Promptly, Kurt looked away from Sebastian and almost demonstratively settled himself back into his standard sleeping in class-position over the table, wishing for the lesson to end.


	4. The Hummel Havoc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick something(s). Firstly, I realised that I forgot to tell you that the title comes from Ed Sheeran's “Kiss Me”, just FYI :P  
> Secondly and lastly, Sebklaine Net is hating on my right now and franky I don't have the energy to fight with yet another webbsite right now, so I won't update there (for now).

The first month of Sebastian's sophomore year was and would always be remember as _The Hummel Havoc_ due to dearest Kurt Hummel himself.

The first week was quiet enough; Sebastian watched Kurt with fond eyes every time he spotted those red highlights in the corridor, Dining Hall, or French class because truth be told, the boy was interesting enough to hold Sebastian captivated. He wasn't the only one who looked at Kurt; oh, far from it. Mademoiselle Dufour glared at Kurt whenever she saw him, outside of class or not, but then again she glared at Sebastian too. As for the rest of Dalton's student body, the majority looked at Kurt like he was some kind of alien who would attack if approached. Kurt himself didn't seem like he noticed any of it, instead always keeping a neutral facial expression and if he ever caught someone talking about him behind his back, he had a glare in store just for such occasions.

Sebastian wasn't that easily fooled –– he wasn't stupid enough to think that Kurt Hummel enjoined the solitude the Dalton boys gave him. Perhaps, it was that coupled with the fact Kurt Hummel's arse was really begging for him to fuck it that caused Sebastian to keep talking to Kurt, despite how Kurt himself always gave the impression that he would rather make out with Dufour than speak to Sebastian any longer. It was fun, though, because he still answered when Sebastian commented on something, always with just the right amount of sass evident in his manner and words, and always keeping up with Sebastian, and occasionally stepping on his toes. As far as Sebastian's conversational history went, his although rather short dialogues with Kurt still made the top five or so –– which was saying something since Sebastian's top priority still was to get into Kurt's pants.

Wes, out of obligation or because the boy was simply _Wes_ , also talked to Kurt daily just like Sebastian, but those conversations were always polite and sometimes even hollow as far as Sebastian could see; then again, Kurt seemed to have this wall which always rose up from the ground, separating him from the world and his conversational partner whenever he didn't wish to continue a conversion and whatever you threw at it, the wall just re-bounced ones words like they was some kind of basket ball.

Apart from himself and Wes, the only two other boys that Sebastian noticed talked to Kurt was Nick and, funnily enough, Blaine Anderson; Sebastian would never have guessed if he hadn't in fact seen Blaine inviting Kurt to have lunch with him and some Warblers two days in a row –– he actually happened to sit by the said table with Warblers in the second day (much to Kurt's dismay it seemed which just made it even more enjoyable). Apparently they shared the class together before lunch he later found out from Blaine during their shared Chemistry class, where they actually ended up as partners. Blaine had given him a funny look when he asked like he suspected that Sebastian had some ulterior motive –– and well he _had_ , but come on, it wasn't like he tried to hide that he liked to have sex with people and that was really all there was to it.

But then, two days into the second week the first toilet blew up.

Wes had looked like he was gonna have an aneurysm or something as the loud bang rang through Dalton's corridors, like he knew without knowing just what had happened. But as it was, Kurt hadn't even been near that part of the school at the time, apparently he had been on his way to Human Autonomy class as a riled up Trent would tell anyone who asked since Kurt seemed to have bumped into him and knocked his books and notes out of his hands and left without as much as an apology –– and right outside the classroom, too. Kurt himself had acted surprisingly indifferent to it all, like he couldn't care less and that he wasn't even going to defend himself because he was absolutely sure that he had nothing to do with it whatsoever.

No one was caught guilty for the toilet accident; Kurt had a waterproof alibi and the school board couldn't think of anyone else to suspect, although everyone (and therefore also Blaine and Sebastian himself) who had Chemistry were brought into question to some extent since it appeared that the explosive material used for the prank was in fact chemicals that the guilty party had obtained from the school's lab. Sebastian caught Kurt's mouth twitching into an almost smile as he heard that Sebastian have had to prove his innocence.

All the while, Kurt Hummel was showing to the world, and the pupils and staff at Dalton exactly why Mrs. Gardner had him let enroll on a scholarship. He proved to be smarter than most, although he was rarely active in class and it was by now common knowledge that Kurt Hummel slept through his classes –– he was still quick-witted when he actually opened his mouth to comment on some ongoing discussion; not to mention that rumour had it that he was at the top of his Calculus class already. Though, most teachers liked to go soft at least the first week to then kick into top gear, and by Wednesday Mademoiselle Dufour presented their very first pop quiz –– one of many if Sebastian wasn't mistaken. She had looked so expectedly over at where Kurt, Nick, and Sebastian sat in a row because, of course, they were the three that she felt didn't belong in her classroom, and Sebastian knew that she was just looking for an excuse to kick them out or at least make them feel incompetent. As it was however, Sebastian was great at French, he spent almost every summer in Paris for heavens sake; as for Nick, Sebastian knew that the guy was a linguistic wonder boy; and as for Kurt, it was evident that he wasn't going to let Dufour catch him failing. It was rather fun when one thought about it.

Nevertheless, once Sebastian had finished the test he had glanced over at Kurt who immediately felt his gaze and looked up with a raised eyebrow. It was perhaps stupid to tickle a sleeping lion, but when had Sebastian been known for holding back and being humble anyway?

“ _Not finished yet?_ ” he had whispered oh so quietly in French as he rose from his seat but Kurt had heard him, it was obvious that he did by the way a fire suddenly lit in his otherwise unreadable eyes and his expression almost wicked just before Sebastian walked away. He should maybe feel a bit threatened by the lack of actual response from Kurt, but he didn't bother. All he knew was that he had managed to catch Kurt Hummel's attention, and as silly as it was it was fun and Sebastian couldn't say that he regretted it.

He did, however, more or less forget about it. But who could blame him in the light of things; like how two days after the pop quiz Mademoiselle Dufour, while in the middle of a lecture, took a ship from her tea and suddenly went stiff, her mouth closed tightly and staring at nothing. Then, with a loud slam, she placed her cup on her desk, breathing hard like she was trying to get as much air into her lungs as possible, her face becoming more red by the minute and she started to fan herself with her hand as her eyes started to water. Without even as much as an explanation, she more or less ran out of the classroom, dismissing the class just as she was in the doorway.

All eyes turned to Kurt the moment she was out of sight, but he looked as blank as anyone could possibly be, though he was the first to rise from his seat and collect his things because well, class dismissed.

Later, Sebastian found out that Kurt had (although he was never caught, and left the entire class if not school wondering just how the hell he had pulled it off) actually put wasabi in Mademoiselle Dufour's green tea. The funny thing was that he could tell that not even Wes could bring himself to feel too sorry for her –– “after all, it was a rather harmless prank in comparison for if the guilty had put laxative in her tea instead, because that could have been dangerous if overdosed,” as he had said during dinner after they found out about the wasabi. If Sebastian was to guess, he had a feeling that Wes had only said that there and then because Kurt was sitting by the table, and Wes was thankful that the prank was, as stated, harmless.

* * *

Kurt hardly let them have a break though, and while the student body could find some kind of false security in the fact that the two pranks that had been carried out, one had been a public thing to no one and everyone (Sebastian suspected that Kurt had only blown up that toilet to test the waters –– and possibly because he had felt like it) and as a personal vendetta towards a teacher (who was sort of an arsehole). But damn if Kurt Hummel didn't burst that bubble, too.

The morning had started just like any other; Sebastian's alarm went off, he snoozed four times more, finally got up, but on his uniform and were ready to take a visit to the bathroom before going down to breakfast. Only, when he pushed down the door handle and started pulling the door open, it opened like three centimetres before suddenly it just said _stop_. Confused, Sebastian shut the door before trying to open it again, pulling harder this time –– but the result was all the same; _the door wouldn't open_. It was a terrible feeling –– _he couldn't get out_ and he just pulled harder and harder but the door _still_ wouldn't open and it felt like he had been standing there for at _least_ twenty minutes but in reality it was more like five and fuck he was panicking. Thank God they had separate dorms at Dalton because he could not stand the thought of a potential roommate seeing him freak out right now.

With that in mind, Sebastian decided that the next logical step would be to try to get a hold of someone on the other side of his door. So he picked up his phone and called the first person he could think off.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he ranted as he listened to the dull tone and waited for an answer. Then finally, _finally_ , someone picked up and in the solitude of his dorm Sebastian let himself sigh in relief because he doubted that Jeff would catch it on the other side of the phone.

“... Bas, I swear to God you said that there _wouldn't_ be any morning practice today, and don't you _dare_ say that I wasn't listening when you said it because you _didn't_ say it and ––”

“Oh my God, Jeff, _shut up_ ,” Sebastian snapped into the phone and then paused for a moment, letting Jeff mutter over Sebastian waking up _'from a perfectly good dream'_ before he continued. “Listen, someone's blocked my door and I can't get out.”

“Doesn't the doors open to the inside?”

“Yes, and it opens like three centimetres and then it just _stops_.”

“Well it's not _blocked_ as you put it,” Jeff said far too smugly for undoubtedly drowsy face.

“Okay Mr. Besserwisser, just get your arse out of bed and come and help me,” Sebastian snapped.

“Jesus Christ, _fine_ , I'm on my way.” Sebastian could hear sheets rustle as Jeff made his way out of his bed. “Just so you know,” Jeff continued talking, “you're gonna owe me because –– oh crap,” Jeff suddenly deadpanned.

“What happened?” Sebastian asked.

“My door won't open.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“No, I'm not! It opens like an inch or so and then it's stuck!”

“Well fuck.” Sebastian sat back down on his bed again. It was probably a prank of some sort, Sebastian concluded now that he was calmer, and if Jeff couldn't get out either, it meant that probably no one living in the dormitories could; Jeff's dorm wasn't on Sebastian's floor and while it made sense that Kurt would prank Sebastian, it didn't add up that Kurt would do it to Jeff as well. So to summarise it all –– everyone who slept in the East Wing was probably looked in, with perhaps the exception of Kurt Hummel (though Sebastian doubted it, it would be too suspicious for Kurt to risk it). “Look Jeff, try to call someone and see if they're looked in too, because I don't think this is a coincidence.”

“Roger, update in T minus ten minutes.”

“Go and join the army, Sterling, talk to you soon.”

“Over and out,” Jeff said fondly and Sebastian just hung up; Jeff was far too cheery now that he had somewhat woken up. Then there was the question: when you suspect that the majority of the student body is stuck inside their dorms, who you gonna call? _Wes Montgomery_.

Sebastian quickly found Wes in his contact list and much unlike Jeff, Wes answered after two tones.

“Montgomery,” Wes answered in a blank and very formal tone and yeah, that was so much up for mockery.

“Splendid,” Sebastian drawled politely, “this is Mr. Smythe speaking, and I am calling to inquire whether you are capable of exiting your dormitory or not.”

“You're stuck, too?” Wes asked, sounding very distressed already.

“Yes, and so is Jeff. I think our little punk pulled a big one.”

“Sebastian,” Wes said tiredly, “you can't know for sure that this is Kurt's doing, at least not at this early point.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sebastian said. “You know just as well as I or any other person at this school for that matter that this is Kurt's doing, just as that toilet was his doing or that wasabi tea for that matter. And now he pulled this off and I'm willing to bet my parents house that he's gonna get away with it, too.”

“No one can know for certain until he has been proven guilty ––”

“–– until then he's as innocent as the rest of us, I know, Wes,” Sebastian interrupted. “Stop defending him, he can take care of himself, _obviously_.”

“I know that,” Wes snapped. “It's just that I don't think that people should judge him so quickly, that's all.”

“Yet he is just as prejudicial and judgemental as the rest of us,” Sebastian pointed out because well, it was true, one had to be blind not to notice how Kurt greeted everyone with a calculated look before going all Elizabeth Bennet. “But let's drop that for now. What is the next logical step right now?”

“Well,” Wes said, thinking out loud it seemed, “the Dining Hall opened about half an hour ago and if your theory that every student is locked inside then the staff should have noticed by now that there's no one down at breakfast.”

“And seeing that almost the entire student body lives in the dorms, if the lunch ladies doesn't check the East Wing someone will undoubtedly do it once classes start and almost every seat is empty,” Sebastian continued.

“Exactly. I think it's probably just a matter of time before someone lets us out; but maybe we should try to get in touch with the teachers or administration so they'll know what's happening.”

“I didn't know you had Gardner's phone number,” Sebastian said and smirked to himself.

“Har har. I mean calling the reception or something.”

“But that doesn't open until like ten or so, and I seriously doubt that the receptionist, headmistress, _or_ any of our teachers checks their emails before breakfast, otherwise it would be depressing.”

“Point taken.” There was a moment of silence, before Wes spoke again. “I think that we only have to wait, then.”

“How fun.” Sebastian sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “But, Wes, I think I'm gonna hang up and call Jeff again, promised I'd keep him updated.”

“You do that, I'll call David, he doesn't live in dorms.”

“Grand idea, catch you later,” Sebastian bid goodbye.

“Bye.”

It was sort of comical really, how about two seconds after Sebastian had hung up, his phone started to ring, Jeff calling him.

“It's been more than ten minutes, arsehole,” was Jeff's well-mannered greeting.

“Has it?” Sebastian just replied smugly. “Got a hold of someone?”

“Yes, Nick was locked in, too.”

“As was Wesley, he's trying to call David 'cause he lives close by instead of in the dorms,” Sebastian explained.

“'Kay, awesome, er, what do we do now then?”

“We wait.”

“Well that sounds like fun,” Jeff deadpanned.

“Just get dressed, Jeffrey, you probably wants to be out of your Batman pyjamas before someone managed to get us out,” Sebastian said with a little chuckle and heard Jeff mutter something on the other side of the phone as he moved around, probably doing as told, despite it all.

“I don't have a _Batman_ pyjamas Sebastian, they're Superman and there's a difference!” Jeff protested. “And I am proud to wear them because Superman is awesome and ––” Jeff's words were lost to Sebastian as someone started to jerk in his door handle on the outside and Sebastian sat up straight, staring at the door with wide eyes, realising that someone was probably trying to open it.

“–– then dearest Jeff, keep your pyjamas on by all means, because I think someone will come and get you soon; they're working on my door right now after all,” he said partly to annoy Jeff but mostly to keep himself calm because he really didn't know what was happening on the other side of that door.

“ _What?!_ ” Jeff exclaimed. “You better not be joking with me right now, Bas, or else I'll ––”

“I'm not, okay?” Sebastian interrupted. “Oh God, the door is opening,” he said because, well, it _was_ and suddenly the head of Mademoiselle Dufour peeked inside his room with a rather frustrated scowl on her face.

“You can come out now,” she said in her French accent before quickly pulling back into the corridor. Sebastian followed quietly and then watched with wide eyes down the dormitory corridor. Each any every door down the corridor was tied together with the door opposite it with a, strong, white rope, making it actually impossible to open the darn doors. Mademoiselle Dufour was slowly processing, walking from door to door and trying to tie them all up, Sebastian saw, and when she turned to just see him standing there, she snapped, “You _could_ be a little bit more 'elpful and go a floor up and try to 'elp your friends out, no?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” he mumbled, turning around and started walking. “I'm out and on my way to rescue you, dear ally,” he told Jeff who replied with a cute little cheer (Sebastian was usually one who avoided calling people _'cute'_ even inside his head, but Jeff was special in that way that he more or less required it, since the boy was the pure definition of the word from time to time).

Jeff was occupant on the top floor of the East Wing, unlike Sebastian who had this dorm on the second floor, so he climbed the stairs while still talking to Jeff who wondered what was keeping them inside. He tried to explain the ropes tied to the door handles only to more or less fail; he wasn't that kind of person who could easily paint things with words –– well, unless it was something dirty, because if that was the case then he was absolutely wicked at it.

No one had started to help people out in the top floor yet, even though Sebastian had spotted some students and a teacher on the floor below, and really, Sebastian _should_ start at the beginning of the corridor and work his way through to the middle where Jeff's dorm was, but he didn't feel like it. So instead he made his way to Jeff's door, going under the ropes.

“Okay, I'm outside, pull on a fresh blazer and you'll be out in a minute,” he said and didn't give Jeff the time to answer before hanging up and getting to work. Damn, Hummel could tie a piece of string together, that's for sure, Sebastian thought as he tried to tie up the knot. It was rather difficult, because each and every door handle was curved in a way so that one couldn't simply just pull the knot off the handle, instead it really had to be untied. And Kurt had been thorough, Sebastian was willing to bet that each and every knot on each door was exactly as tightly tied together as this one. But damn the one who gives up; after some struggle, Sebastian managed to loosen the knot up and then it was over and done in three seconds flat.

“Here comes your rescue,” Sebastian said in a sing-song voice as he opened Jeff's door and Jeff laughed before giving him a quick little hug.

“Oh, without doubt, you're my hero, Sebastian,” Jeff said sarcastically before pulling back and going back into his room to fetch his tie.

“Don't I get a kiss for my awesome efforts?” he teased, leaning onto the door frame, smirking.

“Sorry, but I have this rule that I don't kiss arseholes,” Jeff shot back before shoving Sebastian out. “But should we help the others?” he asked when he got out in the corridor and saw the extraordinary trap himself.

“I guess,” Sebastian drawled and completely lost his posture because he really didn't feel like it.

“Don't be such a meanie, Bas, the other boys deserves to get out just as much as you do,” Jeff said and started to work at the door closest to him. With a dramatic sigh, Sebastian moved to another door, continuing his path down the corridor. It was a slow job, making the knots loosen up, but after three knots or so he got the hang of it and he was slow but steadily making progress, releasing students and making them untie the door opposite them so that Sebastian could move along and try to get as many out as fast as possible. Dalton boys were in general a very helpful sort, despite his personal ideologies, and while some hurried to the bathroom as soon as they had untied the rope to their neighbour on the other side of the corridor, most continued to help people out themselves, which made work a lot more quicker for Sebastian. And that was fortunate, because he _really_ needed a cup of coffee, and that was _soon_.

As he reached the last door in the corridor he couldn't help but to think that the boy inside the dorm should be endlessly thankful for Sebastian's selfless efforts to help him, instead of letting some freshmen do it while he abandoned the scene for the Dining Hall.

“Okay, the door is open so you can come out now,” Sebastian declared after untying hopefully his last rope for today and opened the door to the dorm since it was unlocked. He had not, however, expected to find a Kurt Hummel sitting on the bed, casually reading a book before he looked up at Sebastian with blank gaze. “How the hell did you managed to tie your own dorm and then get inside?” Sebastian mindlessly wondered out loud before he could stop himself –– oh God, he really needed coffee.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Kurt said, putting his book away and then exited his dorm, walking quickly to God knows where.

“Oh, really now,” Sebastian deadpanned as he followed because, well, coffee was that way.

The punk didn't say another word, and neither did Sebastian, but somehow they managed to end up walking side by side through Dalton, all the way to the Dining Hall and coffee table. Sebastian chose not to comment on the humours scenario though, instead he simply poured himself a cup before handing the can over to Kurt who accepted it with a soft “Thank you.”

After taking his first sip (of black-enough-to-eat-through-metal coffee) he felt a bit more capable of taking in his surroundings, and he glanced over the Dining Hall, finding students pouring in and having breakfast, a normal sight if it weren't for the fact that the first period sort of started ten minutes ago.

“Wonder what they're gonna do about the first period,” Kurt said beside him and Sebastian was surprised to find Kurt giving him a glance before going back to his own coffee. The guy was talking to him, without Sebastian initiating the conversation –– oh, if _th_ _at_ wasn't extraordinary.

“They'll probably cancel first period all together, seeing that most students are here anyway,” Sebastian answered, deciding to be civil for once. Kurt hummed beside him in acknowledgement, and then Mrs. Gardner's voice suddenly filled the hall through Dalton's speaker system.

“ _Listen up, students,”_ she said in her normal, strict tone that she always had, like she was unfazed by absolutely everything and simply making a statement. _“Because of recent events in the East Wing, the first period is hereby cancelled and the Dining Hall will stay open until ten o'clock so that everyone has the chance to eat some breakfast. The day will then prolong as normally. Thank you.”_ There was a little melody which marked that her announcement was over and the silence that had been in the hall during her announcement was quickly replaced by a buzz of conversations going on around them, excitement in the atmosphere.

“Told you.” Sebastian smirked at Kurt triumphantly but the other boy just rolled his eyes.

“Didn't take a genius to figure that one out,” he said before walking away from Sebastian and got some breakfast before he settled down by a small table in corner by himself. Sebastian watched him the whole time, mostly out of boredom he told himself, because he was waiting for Jeff to come and get him by the coffee (Jeff knew him well enough to know where he had disappeared to, and sure enough, two minutes after Kurt sat down, Jeff showed up, and they got some breakfast together).

* * *

After the admittedly _awesome_ prank that Kurt pulled off, the headmistress, teachers and students were all hyper-aware of that anything could happen anywhere, anytime, to anyone or _everyone_. The thing was also that everyone _knew_ that it was Kurt who was to blame for it all –– there was no other logical explanation, but since the punk was sly as snake, there was absolutely nothing that could prove him guilty. The only remotely substantial evidence was his motive for putting wasabi in Dufour's tea, but Dufour was a woman who easily made enemies with her students, and it could have been Sebastian himself who had done it, had he ever thought of the idea. So even though Mademoiselle Dufour was obviously convinced that Kurt was to blame for it, it wasn't enough since no one could come up with an idea of how he had done it without anyone noticing.

The subject was dropped, but even so, Dalton's security increased dramatically, with watchmen strolling down the corridors at night and scaring the crap out of you if you're just going to take a late-night piss. It was all in vain though, Sebastian as well as the rest of the school gathered, as one day after lacrosse practise when they hit the showers, the water was suddenly red. _Red_. And it was like that all over school because _someone_ had apparently broken into the kitchen and taken a copious amount of ketchup, only to pour it into the industrial water heater, not enough to clog the pipes, but enough to make the water in every shower at Dalton run red until the next day. Sebastian had to say, he was impressed by Kurt level of skill and creativity because not just anyone would have been able to pull that one off, let alone by himself. And then there was also the fact that Wes hadn't been off Kurt's case after the rope-prank; always insisting that Kurt ate breakfast with them and tried to do the same with lunch too, even after Blaine had stopped asking Kurt to join them. As it was, though, although Kurt hadn't had lunch with them at the day, there was no way in hell that would ever had managed to break into the kitchen then because the cooks were always working intensely from the time they started to make breakfast until after dinner, the kitchen always busy. The only time where Kurt could have broken into the kitchen was early in the morning, _before_ the cooks arrived and started to prepare breakfast, and then he would've had to go to the industrial water heater immediately and pour the ketchup in, all while not getting caught and making it back in time to his dorm so that when Wes would pick him up, he would be ready to go, just like any other day.

* * *

When they talked about it during breakfast the next morning, Kurt stayed quiet like usual while Jeff tried to come up with some kind of explanation to how one manages to carry that amount of ketchup all the way from the kitchen to the water heater.

“Oh, it's not even that impressive,” Sebastian cut Jeff off mid-sentenced, giving Kurt a quick glance before continuing. “Anyone could pour ketchup in a water heater, you only have to get it there and open the heater before you start pouring without getting caught while doing so. Any idiot could do that.” The boys around the table started at him with wide eyes except Kurt who for a second looked offended and angry before his expression turned blank and turned back his attention to his breakfast.

Sebastian was deliberately riling Kurt up, he knew that, Kurt might know it, too, but it was _fun_ to see that thunderous flash in Kurt's eyes before he hid it –– and other people's reactions to it just made it even better.

“What are you doing?!” Jeff had hissed at him as they made their way to their first lesson after breakfast, which they shared.

“What are talking about?” Sebastian asked calmly, smirking good naturally at Jeff's upset demeanour.

“I mean the way you're asking for _war_!” he exclaimed, earning a couple of looks for passing students, not that Jeff himself noticed or Sebastian cared. “I know you thought that prank was just as awesome as I did, don't deny it, so why are you poking on Kurt?”

“When have I ever said such a thing?”

“You're face said enough, Bas,” Jeff argued. “You forget that I know you.”

“Then, if you know me so well, then you should maybe also know that I'm doing this because it's amusing,” Sebastian fondly pointed out and smirked at the face Jeff made.

“No way,” he deadpanned. “ _No way_. You're _not_ just being an arse because it's fun, Sebastian!”

“I don't know,” he said with a smirk. “You know me so well so why don't you tell me?”

Jeff had just sighed before muttering about hoe impossible he was, dropping the subject. But Kurt's revenge however, turned out to be beyond anything Sebastian could ever imagine. As soon as the day after Sebastian's dig, he, Jeff and the rest of the lacrosse team had a morning training session out on the field –– Sebastian wanted to use it as much as possible now before the first game of the season which would be held at Dalton –– but as he walked onto the field, followed by his team, he was greeted with one of the greatest surprises he had ever had.

“You're an idiot and an _arse_ , Sebastian,” Jeff said matter-of-fact-y beside him.

He _seriously_ wanted how Kurt had pulled this one off –– all across the lacrosse field, Kurt had planted trees. Fucking _trees_! All about as tall as a teenage boy, thin and neatly planted into the ground, only a bit of brown dirt showing just around where the trunk met the lawn, and there were about seven of them or so that certainly weren't there yesterday. Sebastian couldn't help but to let out the laugh bubbling inside of him because, yeah, this was pure brilliance.

His team had given him different kind glares; most of them either thinking that he had gone crazy for laughing at this or they realised that the trees were his fault and blamed him for it. And then there was Jeff, who pushed shoulder rather hard before asking “What the hell am I going to do with you?” followed by a loud sigh and shaking his blond, little head.

“Provide me with food and a steady flow of hot men. I don’t require that much maintenance,” Sebastian replied instantly before turning to the team, dismissing them from morning practice because of obvious reasons. Sebastian was rather confident that they would be able to get rid of the trees in the next two days or so, so he wasn’t that worried about a few cancelled training sessions, his team could afford that.

And if he was to be perfectly honest, Sebastian did actually look forward to see Kurt later that day in French despite knowing that the boy would deny to the end that he had anything to do with the trees. As Kurt strolled into the classroom, Sebastian already sat in his seat waiting; the seating arrangement had become the one they always sat in: from the right it was Sebastian, Kurt, Wes and lastly Nick; so it wasn't really a surprise when Kurt sat down next to him even though he could sit elsewhere.

“I have to say,” Sebastian began, “I do wonder how you managed to firstly get all those trees to field and then _plant_ them without anyone noticing.”

Kurt looked up at him and for a moment there was a spark of pride in those multi-coloured eyes of his –– before his wall went up again and Kurt became a blank piece of paper. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he said and he pulled out his chair with perhaps a little too much force.

Sebastian wasn't discouraged by Kurt's lack of response, though; he had predicted it to be like this. “Oh, really?” he simply drawled instead, smirking because judging the way Kurt always seemed to frown a little when he smirked, the punk didn't like the sight of it. “Because the only way you possibly couldn't be aware of what I'm on about would be if you were a sleepwalker –– and that's a serious issue, Kurt, you could end up hurting yourself. Or replace all the literature in the library with erotica, both seems like likely possibilities to me.”

“See, I think you're mixing me up with yourself, _Sebastian_ ,” Kurt shot back an irritated glare, though Sebastian just clicked his tongue in disapproval and shook his head.

“Why would I waste my time on reading about sex when I can get the real thing every time I simply walk into a gay bar?” he asked in faux sincerity.

The reaction wasn't what he had expected though; to be honest Sebastian hadn't viewed the comment as any different from all the others that had made their way out of his mouth over the weeks, if it hadn't been for Kurt's reaction. The boy's eyes widened almost comically for a second and a faint blush appeared which made him look almost beautiful in the most adorable way. But it wouldn't be Kurt Hummel if that too was whipped away in the blink of an eye, and Kurt turned away, facing forward and pointedly ending the conversation with a snort that easily could have passed off as a sign of boredom –– had it not been for that blush.

Sebastian let his eyes linger on Kurt's profile a moment longer before turning his eyes to Wes who was approaching them; however, the mental image of Kurt Hummel's blushing face would linger for much longer.

* * *

Wes was not happy. In fact, he wasn't happy at all. He was extremely concerned when it came to the Warblers and their chances of winning Sectionals, never _mind_ their chances of making it all the way to Nationals in New York –– no matter how much most his fellow Warblers argued that they were fine; Wes was a realist in the end and he prided himself with his ability to face the facts no matter how horrid they were. And, when looking at their competition for Sectionals, Wes couldn't help but to be worried.

The first glee club, The Hipsters did not come off as threat to him, although the idea of a glee club made out of composed entirely of senior citizens who have returned to school to finish their education was sort of sweet, it wasn't really competition material. But New Directions, the other glee club that they would meet, on other hand, _were_. Wes had done his background study: New Directions appeared to be a show choir that quite unpredictable in their level of performances; sometimes they seemed absolutely fantastic, while other times like an absolute train wreck. And that troubled Wes, because he couldn't know for sure that to expect of them.

The problem laid in the Warblers themselves really; no matter how brilliant they actually were, they held the same fashion over all performances –– all from songs to choreography. And although Wes knew that what they were doing was good, it clearly wasn't enough, seeing that the Warblers hadn't made it to Nationals in almost ten years now. It was obvious that something needed to change, or else this year would go just as all the others.

The question was _how_ , though. Wes had, of course, voiced this issue with the group, but although some actually did agree with him, a solution that the majority of the Warblers could agree to had yet to be found. His own head was working overdrive to try to come up with something; mostly it was just set list ideas and choreography, but when stepping back and observing his new idea, he always realised that it was just what he was trying to get away from. In the privacy of his mind, Wes couldn't help but to picture himself banging his head into a wall in hope that an original idea would hit him. It was all about trying to think outside the box, but it was much easier said than done.

Still thinking about the Warblers, Wes more or less marched through the corridors of Dalton; he was on his way to the library in hope to find something inspiring, going there straight after Warbler practise. Rounding a corner, Wes spotted Hummel (which Wes thought was quite odd since classes had been oven for some time now), walking away from Wes with quiet steps through yet another one of Dalton's corridors. When Hummel reached the end of the corridor, he walked up to the empty classroom by the end of it and without even as much as a glance to his left or right, he slipped inside and closed the door behind him.

Baffled, and perhaps a little scared, Wes started to follow Hummel; because _what if the boy was actually up to something?_ Then Wes would have stop him if he could, even though the thought seemed rather terrifying to be honest. Lord, Wes hadn't been close to doing something as adventurous this before in his life, and he was simply sneaking up of a fellow classmate and trying to catch said classmate in the act of mischief. It was pathetic really, that _this_ was his first time doing something that caused adrenaline to rush through his veins that wasn't performing, arguing or having intercourse –– and he went to a freaking all-boys boarding school for crying out loud!

[ Although](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XlAhtokbzac), as he approached the closed door, he heard music of all things seeping out from the room. It was a song with that he recognise but couldn't really place; but one thing was certain: it didn't fit his image of Hummel. It was classical music, or maybe something from a musical, but definitely not something that he would peg Hummel to listen to.

Confused, Wes tried to as gently as possible open the door, just a little, so that he could peek inside. He spotted Hummel almost immediately, seeing the boy pace back and forth almost like he was building up something inside of him. Just as he thought Hummel had walked out of his sight Wes spotted his legs dangling in the air as he appeared to be sitting on one of the one of the desks.

Then, without knowing that Wes was on the other side of the door, Hummel opened his mouth and sang.

It took every ounce of Wes' willpower to not gasp and make his presence known and he stood stock still, barely breathing as he listened to Kurt freaking Hummel sing the words to Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber's _Don't Cry for Me Argentina_ from _Evita_ (yes, he could recall the song's origin now). Wes could never in his wildest dreams even _imagine_ Hummel singing this song and furthermore with such flare.

–– _when I try to explain how I feel,_  
 _that I still need your love after all that I've done._  
 _You won't believe me,_  
 _all you will see is a girl you once knew;_  
 _although she's dressed up to the nines_  
–– _at sixes and sevens with you._

_I had to let it happen –– I had to change!_   
_Couldn't stay all my life down at heel._   
_Looking out of the window, staying out of the sun._   
_So I chose freedom ––_   
_running around trying everything new,_   
_but nothing impressed me at all._   
_I never expected it too._

_Don't cry for me Argentina. The truth is I never left you._   
_All through my wild days, my mad existence ––_   
_I kept my promise,_   
_don't keep your distance._

_And as for fortune and as for fame, I never invited them in ––_   
_though it seemed to the world they were all I desired._   
_They are illusions;_   
_they're not the solutions they promise to be._   
_The answer was here all the time:_   
_I love you and hope you love me._

_Don't cry for me Argentina! The truth is I never left you!_   
_All through my wild days, my mad existence ––_   
_I kept my promise,_   
_don't keep your distance._

_Have I said too much?_   
_There's nothing more I can think of to say to you._   
_But all you have to do is look at me to know that every word_   
_is true!_

As the outro burst out in it's magnificent glory, Hummel jumped off the desk and spun around, like he for once couldn't contain himself, and his moves followed the melody of the song although what he was doing could never be classified as dancing. Reluctantly, Wesley backed off because he realised that Kurt would soon be done and as impressed as he was by Hummel's performance, he seriously doubted that being caught listening would end well. He really didn't know where his feet was leading him, but almost too soon (for it really couldn't take _that_ little time, could it?) he found himself stepping inside his own dorm. Heart pounding in his ears, he was pacing back and forth in his room, trying to process.

Kurt Hummel could sing. And not only _that_ , the boy had a voice out of this world, that could reach higher than he ever heard a boy reach before! It almost was too good to be true; Hummel could be the answer to his problems. A voice like his could turn out into a great asset, and Wes reckoned that unlike so many of the Warblers, Kurt would actually speak up if he found something off with their set-list and so on. Perhaps the boy could, just like Wes so desperately wanted, bring something new to the table.

The major problem, though, would not be to have the other Warblers to accept Hummel and furthermore _change_ ; the greatest problem would, most likely, be to convince Hummel to become a Warbler.

* * *

**A/N:** From hereby and onwards, Wesley Montgomery shall be known as my spirit animal.


	5. The Finest Old Trunk

He had almost been at Dalton for a month now and Kurt honestly didn’t know how to feel about it. He still didn’t fit in; it was painfully obvious on numerous occasions throughout the day; like when he woke up in a room that felt far too polished and far too little like his, when he put on his uniform which may fit him perfectly because he tailored it after himself so that it would bring out the best of him (and also he had hoped to make himself more comfortable in it), or when he walked through any corridor with at least one student or the Dining Hall or even sat down in class. It all screamed that he shouldn’t be here, didn’t belong here and although no one had actually told him so, he could just point his finger at all the people, students and staff, who believed that he should pack up his things and leave. Their eyes said just enough, and although Kurt was a master in the arts of not showing what he thought and felt, it was still discouraging.

But then there was his dad. Dad who looked so happy whenever Kurt stepped out of his Navigator, still dressed in the Dalton uniform each weekend, like he was happy that Kurt was still in it. He probably was, too. And he’d ask Kurt about his week, about the school and his lessons, his dorm and if he had made any friends and no matter how vague Kurt's answers were, he still managed to get something out of him it seemed. For example, Burt had figured out just by listening that Kurt hated his French teacher, but actually liked Mr Mendelson, his Calculus teacher, and over all, Kurt enjoyed the challenge Dalton gave him. He continued to insist that Kurt take things back with him each Sunday evening when he was heading back to school because Burt had somehow figured out that Kurt found his room boring. On the third weekend, Burt had even taken (read: forced) Kurt to the mall in hope that they would find something for Kurt's dormitory. Kurt had been tense the whole time, and all in all, the day had been disastrous.

It was not that Kurt didn't like to go shopping –– in fact he _loved_ it. But he was painfully aware of Burt’s presence the whole time and how his father would see and judge everything that Kurt might have liked to have in his dorm. He _really_ didn’t want his dad present when he thought about colour schemes and different fabrics; interior design (just like more or less _any_ form of design, lest it be everyday objects or clothes) was something that Kurt thoroughly enjoyed, he also knew how _gay_ it was. He knew that if he started talking about how he should maybe go with a steampunk-ish New England style in order to complement the interior of Dalton, he would sound utterly faggy. He knew that if he started looking at sheets and carpets and maybe a nice fake-painting to hang on his wall it would too be a dead giveaway since most _straight_ guys didn’t give a damn about the colour of their bedding or if the painting on the wall would be bleached because of the sun coming through the window at the opposite side of the room. But Kurt _did_ care and he _did_ think about those things and he had seen the _finest_ old trunk second-hand store that they had passed by while just walking around and Kurt just _knew_ that it would make a great bedside table –– but he couldn’t walk into the store and buy it because then Burt would notice and undoubtedly ask. And Kurt really didn’t want to be asked because he didn’t want to lie, yet he knew he would.

They had gotten home arguing about nothing –– nothing unusual but still, it made Kurt's stomach curl unpleasantly and he had shouted at Burt the get the hell out of the kitchen before he made dinner for both of them, trying to calm himself down.

It was one of the few things that he had never managed to hide from Burt: How he loved to cook –– how he basically used it like therapy. One could always be sure that when Kurt demanded an empty kitchen, there was something on his mind that he wanted to deal with alone; whether it was anger, sadness regarding something, or a problem that he was avoiding, or if he just needed to let out some steam –– Burt knew to stay away.

About an hour later, Kurt declared that dinner was ready if Burt would rather eat food than some disgusting take-away (it had happened once and Kurt felt livid even though he was careful not to think of why), before taking his own plate down to his dungeon. Like always, it had been delicious; too bad Kurt couldn’t taste it.

In other words, that hadn’t been a great weekend. And to be honest, Kurt didn’t really look forward to this one either. So while the usual Friday buzz ran through the classrooms and corridors of Dalton Academy, Kurt didn’t let himself get caught up in it, even after the last period. More or less dragging his feet after him, Kurt walked to one of those meet up rooms that were just tables and chesterfields and maybe a wild piano in the corner just _because_. He would be having his last meeting with Wes there; hopefully it would be fast as the other three meetings they had.

Entering the room, he found that Wes was already there, sort of anxiously waiting for Kurt. Perhaps (oh let’s hope) he had something to do after this and just wanted to get the meeting over with before starting his weekend. Though, as soon as Wes noticed his presence, Kurt could practically see how he was making the other boy nervous just by walking up to him, like was holding a gun in his hand or something. So perhaps the anxiety was not so much about something _after_ the weekend, then.

“Waited long?” Kurt asked quietly, mostly just to say _something_ , as he sat down on the chesterfield opposite Wes.

“No, I just got here,” Wes said a little too fast. “So,” he then moved on, “this is the last official meeting.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Have you something you’d like to talk about?”

“No, not really,” Kurt said, just like he had all those other times Wes had asked him the same question in different words.

Wes had always accepted the answer, though; his mouth becoming a thin line for a moment before nodding and saying ‘okay,’ but today he pushed it. “You sure?” he said instead.

“Yeah, pretty sure,” Kurt deadpanned.

There was a moment of silence in which Wes seemed to consider something, looking down at the impressive rug under his feet, before he finally sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging a little and he looked back up at Kurt again.

“I’ve been thinking a little,” he started, “and I think that you should join one of Dalton’s club or communities. Maybe you can find a club that you're interested in, or I’d be willing to help you or so.”

“And why would I ever do that?” Kurt asked, tilting his head to the side, watching Wes get more nervous.

“So you can feel a part of something, of course. It’s not fun to go to a boarding school with nothing to do but study –– and besides, maybe you can make some new friends.”

Kurt let out a chuckle, shaking his head. It was obvious that none of the reasons Wes mentioned was the one that caused him to try to push Kurt towards a club; he obviously had another ulterior motive. The question was only what. “See, I don’t feel the need to do that,” Kurt said. “If I wanted to make friends then I would actually make an effort to do so. Furthermore, tell me a club at this stuck up school which would just ‘accept’ me without fuss.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure that the Warblers would be happy to have you. I mean, you know the majority of the members already.” Wes shrugged.

Wait, _Wes wanted him to join the Warblers?!_ Why the hell would Wes want that?! Kurt frowned at him, trying to come up with some kind of reason. He had _never_ given anyone a reason to believe that he liked to sing, moreover was good at it, moreover could hit a _high F_. That was something that he kept hidden with the rest of things and facts that no one needed to know; why else would Wes push him into joining that ridiculous glee club, though, if he didn't think that Kurt could sing?

His inner debate must have shown on his face or something because Wes’ eyes widened for a moment before he started to look surprisingly guilty.

“You want me to join the Warblers,” Kurt stated. Because that’s what it was: A _statement_.

Taking a deep breath, Wes then nodded and confirmed, “Yes, I do.”

It was rather comical, really. Wes looking so solemn where he sat straight on the couch, trying to be earnest about his intentions and being such a role model _school boy_ about it. No, it wasn’t Kurt’s fault that he burst out laughing right up Wes’ carefully schooled face.

“You realise how utterly ridiculous that would be, right?” Kurt couldn’t help but to ask between breaths.

“Why would it be?” Wes demanded.

“Because,” Kurt collected himself, “I’m not really acapella material, for one, and furthermore I don’t think that there’s a single force on this earth that will ever make me doing ‘oh’s and ‘ah’s behind some lead singer of your choice, these uniforms are draining of individuality as it is.”

“Within the club we actually try let everyone into the spotlight,” Wes tried to argue but Kurt could really feel the _bitch please_ face he was making hearing those words.

“See, that’s where I don’t believe you.” Kurt leaned forward a little, supporting himself with his arms on his knees and looked right back at Wes with what he knew was patronising smile. “I’ve watched, you know, and from what I’ve seen, you have five boys who you always use.”

“That’s because when we vote over who should have the lead, the majority chooses someone that everyone is happy with.”

“Well, that’s not really giving everyone a chance in spotlight now, is it? That's making it into a popularity contest, and sticking to what you know works; not having fun, but more being competitive. Nothing wrong with being competitive, of course, but don’t say that you’re giving everyone a chance when you’re not.” With those words, Kurt rose from his seat. “Anyway, I think we’re done here.” He threw one last glance at Wes before walking out the room before the older boy ever got the chance to breathe another word.

* * *

It shouldn’t have been such a surprise to Wes that Hummel would refuse his offer, but still –– it _was_. He didn’t even _mention_ how he had heard Hummel sign the other day, and, although he wouldn’t tell a soul of this, he spent his weekend trying to come up with some kind of plan to convince Hummel to join anyway. He _did_ have a point in what he said about who got solos. But then again, that was how democracy worked: The one with the most votes won.

Somehow, Wes would maybe have to change the way the system of Warbler politics, alternatively add something to it; both in order to give the choir the change Wes felt they needed, and also to get Hummel on the team. He had already proven himself to the a source of innovation in some way –– looking at the Warblers from another perspective than Wes and therefore noticing other things. Also, for some part, Wes thought that his fellow Warblers _would_ have an easier time receiving criticism from Hummel than from another Warbler. It was so clear that he was different, and Wes at least didn’t think of that as a bad thing –– quite the contrary. Apart from the sometimes rather nasty attitude, not to mention all the pranks, Wes actually liked Hummel when he wasn’t breaking the rules. He clearly wasn’t afraid to speak his mind when he had an opinion, even if it would be unpopular, he always stood his ground, and Wes had a feeling that Kurt was a very loyal soul once you earned his trust.

Maybe it was one of those examples that if something was almost too hard to get, it makes it twice as valuable and one wanted to have it even _more_. But nevertheless, Wes had to come up with some kind of plan.

However, when Wesley returned to Dalton Sunday evening, he was just as clueless on what to do as at when he had left. In the end, he just ended up doing what he always did; wake up five minutes earlier Monday morning and went to fetch Hummel for breakfast –– it was basically routine by now. But what was _not_ so called for, was Hummel's quizzical expression as he opened his door after Wes knocked.

“What are you doing here?” he asked bluntly, taking Wes by surprise.

“What I _always_ do, I’ve been knocking on your door for the last month, Hummel, haven’t you gotten used to it by now?”

Hummel snorted, but still excited his dorm even though his tie clearly wasn’t anywhere near done yet. “I’m sorry because _I_ was under the impression that your role as my mentor expired last weekend.”

“Oh, officially it did,” Wes agreed, “but that doesn't mean that I have to stop having breakfast with you.”

“But it _does_ mean that I can choose not to.”

Wes looked over at Kurt who had that unreadable stone-face again, taking him miles away from Wes even though they were walking next to each other.

“You find me bothersome?” he asked and Hummel’s eyes that had been looking straight ahead until now turned towards him and they weren’t unreadable anymore; Wes could clearly see a flare of anger in them.

“I _find_ , as you phrase it, _very_ bothersome indeed that you still waste my time only because you want me to join that ridiculous glee club of yours,” he snapped.

“That's not it!” Wes protested. “Sure, I want you to join, but I came and fetched you just like I've done for a month out of pure habit.”

“Oh really now,” Hummel deadpanned. “Then I guess that's just something that you’ll have to work on.” With those words, Hummel started walking fast, pointedly leaving Wes behind. But Wes wasn’t ready to let it go –– not yet.

“Yes, really now,” he said, half-running after the other boy. “I didn’t have an ulterior motive; you have to trust me on that.”

“But your actions speak against you!” Kurt said in a sing-song voice. “You see, over here from _my_ point of view, you just came to take me to yet another breakfast with a table full of singing songbirds who all they ever do is to talk about their beloved little choir, and oh, how they're gonna win this time, and sing this, and dance that. But, oh! Let’s hope that Hummel will feel intrigued by all our talk of bird-song that he wants to join us just like all the other boys in the school seem to do! Let’s take him under our wing and let him sing a little _oh_ and _ah_ in the background while Blaine Anderson, Nicolas Duval or, why not, Sebastian Smythe takes the stage, hm? Well _thank you for your kind offer_ , Wes, but _no, thank you_ ,” he finished off, his voice dripping with sarcasm, leaving no room for Wes to argue.

It felt like Hummel had poured a bucket of cold over him with his words. And really, Wes guessed that if he was completely honest he _had_ hoped that the other Warblers would be able to give Kurt reasons to join them. But then again, he was also aware of that Hummel had spent a good amount of time with Warblers already and _still_ had refused his offer so he hadn't had much hope in a plan like that.

Still, when he saw Hummel sitting by himself at breakfast, Wes felt a stab of guilt. Partly because he had pushed so that Hummel backed away and he sort of felt that it was _his_ fault that Hummel had to be alone –– but also because he hadn’t managed in his month as Hummel’s mentor to reach out to him and make him feel at home at Dalton. Although Hummel was the definition of ‘closed off,’ he shouldn’t be alone.

This made Wes even more determined to make Hummel become a Warbler; not only did the Warblers need him, but it looked he needed them, too.

* * *

Kurt was quickly getting very pissed off at Wes, indeed. The song bird had been getting on his nerves well enough after his first row of pranks, but that was nothing compared to how insufferable Wes was turning out to be right now. The older boy had incredible stalker abilities, like he always managed to find Kurt and started to talk to him, trying to convert him into joining that damn glee club. And Kurt couldn’t for the love of him figure out _why_ Wes wanted him to join. He had never ever shown any interest in the Warblers outside of just knowing who they were –– and being a Warbler was apparently a big deal at Dalton too, which made it even more confusing. Sure, Kurt actually loved to sing, but that was his secret to keep and never let anyone know; and, frankly, he had made a great job of keeping it a secret so far.

Trying to make Wes take a hint, Kurt decided that the Warblers were his next target.

The unused kitchen in the East Wing was his storage; it was the perfect place to hide things because then no one would find them in his dorm (since that would just get him busted) and it was so stupidly in public that no one would even think of it. It had actually been in the kitchens cupboards that Kurt had stored all that ketchup he had used the week before (fuck you Sebastian Smythe, he was a brilliant prankster thankyouverymuch); but now he had an air tube and a whole bag full of balloons. The tube might be big and heavy, but what he had in plan was nothing that he couldn’t pull off.

In the early morning, Kurt placed the tube and the bag with balloons outside the Warblers practice room. When lunch came around he snuck in through the window with them and steadily filled the room with balloons from floor to ceiling and then snuck out of the room again. And he wasn’t dumb either; the now empty tube went into the cupboard again for Kurt to dispose of later –– he was going to take it with him when he went home during the weekend –– and he wore plastic gloves _just in case_ the school or someone’s parent would go nuts and demand an investigation and they’d look for fingerprints.

The prank itself was really basic and most certainly harmless, but it was a statement –– and an answer to Wes.

After lunch Kurt dragged himself to his classes in his usual manner; pointedly ignoring Wes during French, too. They’re change in dynamics must have been very noticeable, though, because Sebastian gave him odd looks every now and then, even though he didn’t comment on it.

It wasn’t until later in the evening, when Kurt was eating dinner by himself in the East Wings kitchen (he hadn't fancied to food that day and he needed to drop off the air tube, so it was killing two birds with one stone, really) that Wes confronted him.

“Why are you eating here all by yourself?” Wes asked, sitting down on the chair opposite Kurt without so much as asking first.

“Because I want to. Why are you here?” Kurt shot back, trying hard not to think about the fact that the air tube was in the cupboard just to Wes’ right.

“Because I think that no one should eat alone.”

“Well, I don’t see you eating.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, which was only filled with the sound of Kurt cutting his dinner to pieces before taking a bite. Then Wes took a deep breath, undoubtedly steeling himself.

“Look, Hummel,” he started. “I realise that you have your reservations regarding the Warblers, but I still think that you should give the club at least one chance.”

“But why would you even _want_ to give me a chance?” Kurt countered because it was really bothering him. “For all you know, I could be tone-deaf and without any sense of rhythm at all.”

Wes pushed his mouth into a thin line while looking straight into Kurt’s eyes, thinking so hard that Kurt was surprised that he couldn’t hear the wheels inside the Warbler’s head turning.

“I have higher belief in your voice than that; by now I've learned to listen to my guts when it comes to things like that, and they haven't been wrong so far. And the reason I’m so insisting about it is because as much as I think that the Warblers could give you something, you could teach them something new, as well.”

“So you want me because you’re stuck and can’t come up with something new to do?” Kurt snapped, his irritation with Wes growing stronger. “Or do you just wish to make me a part of a group in order to make me more like _you_?”

“No, of course not!” Wes protested but Kurt was done with this conversation.

“It doesn’t matter, though,” he said, rising from his chair, “because I won’t join you _anyway_. So stop insisting that I do.” With that said Kurt quickly put his plate away and walked out of the kitchen.

* * *

Wes didn’t give up though; if Kurt’s (former) mentor was to be remembered as something, it was determined (read: _stubborn!_ ) apparently. And it became obvious to other people too that Wes was up to something.

“I know it’s none of my business,” Sebastian said quietly one day as he slipped into a seat next to Kurt in the library (where he was hiding from Wes, thankyou), “but exactly _what_ is going on between you and Wes?”

“You're right. It’s none of your damn business,” Kurt said, giving Sebastian a glance before going back to his studies.

It seemed that Sebastian had managed to figure out a way to deal with Kurt without being put off by his obvious disregard because Sebastian didn't even flinch. After a minute of total silence, in which Sebastian just started at him, Kurt decided that it wouldn’t actually _hurt_ if he gave Sebastian what he wanted.

“Wes wants me to join the Warblers,” he confessed softly to his notes, like he was telling a secret.

“Why would he do that?” was Sebastian’s immediate reaction and Kurt finally looked up at him.

“You tell me.”

“What did you tell him?”

“No, of course.”

“Why is that ‘of course’?” Sebastian asked and Kurt just gave him a _look_.

“Because since when did I pass off as a gospel-singing birdie to you, huh?”

Sebastian’s straight face turned into a smirk at the words and he chuckled. “Touché. But then again, I don’t think I pass as one of them either, and I’m still a lead singer.”

“And see, that’s another thing –– you have no clue if I can sing or not,” Kurt pointed out.

“Well, that is a good point. But there’s no telling if you can or can’t lest you try, and Wes is usually good at finding pure talent.”

“Did he ask you to come and talk to me?” Kurt snapped, and then continued after seeing Sebastian’s quizzical look. “Because why else would you just some up to me and promote the Warblers like that?”

“If you remember correctly, I came here to ask you about Wes, not making you join a club –– in which I'm a proud member of, by the way –– I didn’t know Wes was trying to convince you to join. You really need to stop thinking that the world is against you.”

Kurt snorted at Sebastian’s accusation. “I don’t think that –– it’s just that I simply don’t see the point of me joining a club that I find silly. And oh, excuse me for insulting something clearly so dear to you; a club would probably be dear to me, too, if I was one of its stars. Now kindly leave me alone, or at least be quiet because I was actually studying.”

Kurt should have known better than to put his hope in his dismissal as enough to make Sebastian go away because it was unfortunately not the case.

“You know,” he began, seeming completely at ease with Kurt ignoring him, “there’s one thing about you that always confuses me.”

“And what’s that?” Kurt sighed, giving into curiosity and meeting those green eyes once more. Sebastian smirked.

“How you _always_ seem so judgemental.”

“Excuse me?” Kurt snapped.

“It’s just an observation,” Sebastian said, leaning obliquely forward towards Kurt in a most abhorrent way. “But just like you seem to think that no one will do something nice to you because of the pure goodness of their heart, you are also one of the most prejudicial people; you think you’ve got the people you meet figured out five seconds after meeting them.”

“So you’re saying that you’re _not_ an arrogant snob who fucks anything remotely good looking?” Kurt asked faux sweetly, but to his dismay did Sebastian only laugh at him.

“I never said either –– those are your words.”

“But if I’m so _terrible_ then, why do you keep bothering me?”

“Well maybe I enjoy annoying you because you always have the most fun reactions, maybe I just want to push you down a flat surface and fuck you hard, maybe I just wanna get to know you, or maybe all? Indeed, what I want is the question.”

Kurt tried to focus on only breathing, in and out, in and out, because he felt like he was seconds away from doing something _really_ stupid like punching Sebastian, aiming to knock at least one tooth out, or freaking _blush_ or something. He really needed to get into his head that Sebastian was as sexual as three teenage boys combined, and on top of that both gay and without any inhibitions it seemed. Because, above all, Kurt couldn’t let this guy take him off-guard by such simple words –– he just _couldn’t_.

“But it’s also a question that I won’t bother finding the answer to, especially since it’s keeping me from writing my essay, so if you’ll excuse me.” Kurt had had enough of Dalton boys not leaving him alone –– because _come on_ , this was getting ridiculous –– and he quickly collected his things before heading for his dorm.

If Wes didn’t back off anytime soon, then he shouldn’t be held responsible for his actions, Kurt thought as he walked through the corridors to the East Wing. As for Sebastian, Kurt didn’t know what to do with him, but he could guess that not giving into the other boy’s conversations could be a start.

* * *

Kurt was actually rather proud of himself –– he could feel the pride of a job-well-done running through him as he watched from afar the scene play out, trying hard to not to smile too much. Of course hadn’t Wes left him alone –– it was more like he had become Kurt’s own little stalker; something that did not lie well with Kurt. So, after a minute of thinking, and then five more of plotting, Kurt had come up with a little plan of revenge.

He had waited a floor above Wes’ dorm just to make sure that he wasn’t seen as Wes made his way back to his own after another long school day, and then quietly made his way down so he could watch from the shadows. There were only a few other students in the corridor as well; none of which had seem him and none of which played much attention to Wes either –– or, that was until dearest Wesley opened his door to his dormitory.

Out of the dorm came a cacophony of cackle, startling every boy in the corridor (except Kurt of course, who just smirked smugly) and Kurt could see how Wes’ face fell as he looked beyond the door. Suddenly a chicken ran out of the dorm, like it was running towards freedom, and the other boys in the corridor reacted.

“Holy hell, Wes, what have you done?” a guy came up to Wes’ side and asked. Kurt recognised him as a Warbler; Josef, Jacob, Johannes, something with J, something like that.

“You honestly think that _I_ put those there?” Wes snapped.

“Either that or someone is trying to send you a message,” J said knowingly, watching as another little chicken ran out. “Come on, let’s catch them before they make an even larger mess than they made in your room already.”

Wes pulled out a basket –– in which he usually left dirty laundry by the looks of it –– and together they unceremoniously chased the five chickens and threw them inside the basket. Passing boys giggled at the sight of them, and to be fair it looked quite funny when two (rather) tall men bowed down, chasing small but fast chickens that always seemed to be _just_ out of their reach. And of course, Kurt watched it all.

As they came to the last chicken, the two boys seemed to have become rather tired, and it appeared as neither of them really were basketball players  in their previous lives, because they both had a rather sucky hand-eye coordination. Feeling bold, Kurt stepped out of his hiding place when both boys were busy running after the last chicken, and quickly, Kurt scooped the little chick off its feet right before Wes’ eyes.

“You know,” Kurt drawled, looking down at the crouched Wes, “I don’t like stalkers.”

“So you admit that this is your doing?” the J-boy snapped.

“What?” Kurt asked with wide eyes before looking down at the chicken in his hands, then up at the two boys. “Wait, no, of course not! Why would I sacrifice innocent animals to get a point across when I can just simply _tell_ Wes what I think?” he said as he placed the last chicken in the basket.

“Well, I don’t know. You’re the criminal mastermind here, not I.”

Kurt snickered at J… _Johathan_ ,it was! Right. “Thanks for the accusation, but I was just on my way to my dorm when I passed by –– it must have been exhausting chasing these four –– five chickens,” he said with a second glance in the basket.

“Thank you, Kurt,” Wes said, though it was clear as day that he was both irritated and tired and not even near thankful.

“No problem,” Kurt said. “You’d want to get rid of these chickens, though. I know a farm, it’s on the highway going to Lima and I bet the farmer would be happy to take these on if you don’t feel like giving them to the kitchen and having them for lunch tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” Wes mumbled and Kurt glared threateningly at him, with his mouth twisted into a smile as he walked passed.

* * *

Wes actually took Kurt’s advice and looked up the farm in question. Though, he did interrogate the farmer if a boy (with red highlights and about five piercings and so-so tall) had bought some chickens from him the last couple of days, but it turned out that the answer was negative. Too bad, but the farmer was happy enough, getting five chickens for free.

On his way back to the school, Wesley came to the conclusion that there was evidently no way in living hell that Hummel would join the Warblers out of his own free will. Not because he didn’t enjoy singing –– because Wes was willing to bet his 20 page long essay on the French Revolution that Hummel did –– but because he boy was holding himself back for some reason. And yes, Wes really did think that Hummel would be the gateway to a development within the choir, just as he believed that the Warblers would actually be good for the boy.

It wasn’t until late at night, when he was lying in bed than an idea that might actually work. It was a dirty plan, much more below the belt than Wes would ever consider giving into, but the guy had freaking placed _five chickens_ in his dorm, which stilled smelled like a farm, by the way. To be perfectly honest, Wes did find some pleasure in his new plan, even though, if anyone ever asked, he would say that he did it for the greater good or something likewise as cheesy.

The day after, Wes took a trip to a nearby mall once the classes were done for the day, even though he still had Warbler practise to attend. David had given him an odd look when he said that he wouldn’t be there, but to be fair, the business that he was going to take care of was Warbler business, even if it didn’t involve rehearsing.

Once back at school, Wes went straight to Kurt Hummel’s dorm hoping to find him there. Luck was with him.

“Shouldn’t you be at birdy-practise?” was Hummel’s warm greeting as he opened his door to find Wes on the other side.

“Not today,” Wes said simply. “May I come in? There’s something I’d like to speak with you about.”

“No,” Hummel said bluntly.

“Fine then.” Wes looked down the corridor, which thankfully was empty. It was perhaps one of the few peeks with having a dorm on the top floor; firstly weren’t all dorms occupied which lead to a smaller likeliness that someone would hear them and also that someone would walk past on their way up to their dorm, since no one really bothered being on the top floor lest they had a good reason to climb those stairs. Besides, it was the start of dinner-time, so those who weren’t studying or on club activity were probably down, having their dinner. “You see,” Wes began, “during French today, something accidently fell out of your bag, but luckily for you I was able to snatch it off the floor before anyone else saw it.”

Hummel raised an eyebrow but said nothing, even though his eyes were piercing into Wes’, who had to force himself not to look away.

“It was quite fortunate for you that it was I and not someone else who saw it fall out of your bag too because I reckon that most students would report right to the headmistress if they ever found his in your possession, Kurt.” With a somewhat shaky hand, Wes reached inside his pocket and fishes up the little pocket knife he bought earlier and Hummel’s eyes went wide. “If someone ever found out that you had this, you’d be expelled in an instant, you understand that, right?”

“That’s not mine,” Hummel said.

“I know,” Wes admitted, putting the knife back into his pocket because he was still scared that someone would see them. “But let me ask you this: Out of you and me, who do you think the school board is going to believe?”

Hummel bit his lips, exhaling harshly from the nose as he finally broke eye contact and glances over the floor. “Guess you earned a visit inside my dorm after all,” he said quietly before stepping back inside and Wes followed him in, shutting the door after them.

For a moment, there was a pause where Hummel stared at his nightstand and Wes stood awkwardly by the door, trying to calculate his next move. Fortunately for him, Hummel set them in motion again.

“I would take that knife from you, you know,” he said.

“And I can get a new one,” Wes answered immediately.

“But wouldn’t it be weird if you go to the headmistress or a teacher _now_ about this, when you’ve had ‘my’ knife in your possession since this afternoon?”

“This isn’t really tied to today –– I can find it tomorrow. Or the day after that, or never as well, actually.”

“So what are your conditions?” Hummel finally gave in and to be honest, Wes was actually a bit surprised. But nevertheless, he stood his ground.

“You know what I want from you,” he pointed out.

“Okay then, _why_ do you want me to join your precious boy-band, then?” Hummel pushed.

“You’ve already guessed right once, or figured it out more likely, and I’m actually not doing this out of purely selfish reasons.”

“Oh, really now,” Hummel said sarcastically. “You’re trying to make me believe that you’re doing this for _me_?”

“I’ve stopped trying to convince you anything because you’re far too stubborn to listen when you’re already made up your mind about something,” Wes said with a tiny smile. “However, I believe that it is that very same stubbornness that won’t change you into a background-singing, role-model prep-boy or whatever you like to think of us.”

That actually earned a small chuckle from the other boy.

“Fine,” Hummel said then. “I’ll join the Warblers, even though I think you’re insane your club is full of stuck-up brats and moreover, even though I’m opposed popularity contests. But _fine_.” Hummel did indeed sound like he was doing Wes a favour, but that didn’t stop Wes from smiling brightly back at him. “I have some conditions, though,” Hummel said.

Wes nodded. “Go ahead.”

Hummel looked at his nightstand, then up at Wes again. “I’ll probably come up with more along the way, but I want you to go somewhere with me.”

* * *

It was really giving into an impulse, but damn, Kurt had yet to regret it.

After Wesley’s admittedly clever extortion, Kurt took Wes to the mall where he and his dad had been the previous weekend. Wes had absolutely no clue why they were there of course; then again, Kurt was also a bit taken aback that the senior came with him without a fuss.

“It’s not like you’re gonna take me to a dark alley and stab me or something,” Wes said with a shrug when Kurt asked him about it. “Although I can honestly say that I have absolutely no clue what we’re doing here.”

Kurt’s stomach growled very loudly indeed just then; he hadn’t had dinner yet and had simply hopped into his car with Wes in the passenger seat and drove off. Thinking about it, Wes probably hadn’t had dinner either…

“I tell you what.” Kurt turned to Wes. “I have something I need to do, so you go and buy us dinner, we’ll meet up by the fountain –– it’s on the bottom floor, you can’t miss it –– and you’ve got yourself a new little birdy.”

“Brilliant,” Wes said, his smile far too earnest consider that he just blackmailed someone to get what he wanted. “But what do you want to eat?” he asked.

“Food,” Kurt deadpanned before turning his back to Wes and started to walk away. “Get me something that won’t get me a heart attack just by looking at it, and it’ll be fine.”

With fast feet, he then walked straight to that little second-hand store, anxious to know if that bloody trunk was still there. It was such a great joy to find that it actually was; still sitting in the window like it was just waiting for Kurt to come and take it home (to Dalton). He walked straight into the shop and snagged it from the display window before anyone else dared to look at it. The shop keeper wasn’t very pleased with Kurt, he could tell, but he glanced back at her with a raised eyebrow and she neatly backed down, clearly not daring to say anything to him.

Thinking that he actually had a little more time on his own to kill before meeting back up with Wes, Kurt decided to look around the store a little more and see if it had other hidden treasures as well. He held the trunk by its handle on the wide side; it was a bit heavy in his hand, but too large for him to carry under his arm, and he wandered around the store, careful not to knock anything down.

To some extent, it felt rather stupid that he had needed Wes of all people to go along with him in order for him to work up the courage to go into the store just that he _could_ walk around with the trunk, careful not to knock anything of its shelf. But then again, it did work because there was no way that Kurt wasn’t going to walk up to the fountain without the damn trunk in his hand and take in the bewildered look that Wes would undoubtedly give him. Just the thought of it actually made Kurt smile a little from where he was standing, looking at a sloppy portrait of some bloke in a uniform. When he had stared at the same painting with the man for about five minutes more he concluded that nothing else was going to catch his eyes, apart from said painting because the man had a _very_ funny moustache actually.

Lazily, he walked up to the check out where the shopkeeper was still looking at him sceptically. In fact, she continued to do so even after Kurt had paid and walked out with the trunk but he was just fine with that. Because he now had his bloody nightstand and he felt absolutely fantastic.


	6. Warbler is the New Blackbird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the absolutely fantastic response! Really, it warms my heart :) And I'm also so very sorry about how long you had to wait for this update -.- Really, I have no excuse, although I got quite a few good explanations XP  
> But before I shut up: A few things that I like to say and point out.  
> Firstly, many have talked about Kurt and he being in New Directions before his transfer and I would just like to make it clear once and for all that in this AU he was never a member of ND. Looking at the canon Kurt, I get why it’s easy to assume that he was, but this Kurt never had a thought of joining and he had his reasons (which is also kind of why he was/is so reluctant about the Warblers).  
> Secondly, and I find this quite hilarious, I have gotten a neat little pile of comments regarding how much people ship Kurt and Wes in this fic. I FEEL YOU. I actually ship them too so freaking hard because of writing this –– but even so, I can still assure you all that this is a Kurtbastian fanfic all the way and Wes is actually straight in this fic (so that I can marry him in my head of course).  
> But yeah, that was kind of it :)

The very next day, Kurt found himself sitting in one of the chesterfields in the Warbler practise room, musing about how the little birdies must have reacted when they opened the doors and had balloons falling out of the room, and how, when they now entered and spotted him, were rather similar. Or Kurt liked to think that they were at least, as he earned quite a few startled glances and one glare after another –– and let’s not forget the wide smirk from dearest Sebastian as their eyes met when he stepped into the room.

“Well, well, who do we have here?” he snickered as he damped down next to Kurt on the couch.

“A psychic nun from the monastery of Alaska,” Kurt said dully and Sebastian chuckled.

“Then you’re a bit out of place here.”

“Don’t I know it,” Kurt mumbled under his breath, but Sebastian seemed to hear him, although he didn’t get the chance to comment because Wesley started the practise right then. Tapping the gavel gently, Wes obtained every boy’s attention from where he stood behind a table; the boy who Kurt recognised as David on his left and another boy (Theodore, Thaddeus? Something like that) on his right.

“Afternoon, Warblers,” he greeted them with a smile. “Before practise begins I would like to properly introduce you all to a new member of our choir, Kurt Hummel.”

All eyes turned towards him, and Kurt didn’t know if he should stand and say hello or introduce himself, but since he hadn’t been informed, he decided to do nothing. Beside him Sebastian was grinning and Kurt dignified him with a cold look before letting his eyes sweep over each and every face that was looking at him. They stopped at Blaine, for some reason, who was sitting on the armrest of the chesterfield in front of him; and Blaine smiled at him like he was happily surprised to see Kurt there. It made Kurt feel more at ease for some odd reason.

A hand immediately shot into the air and Kurt looked over at the Warbler, one that he actually recognised (since he had been a part of one of Kurt’s first pranks at the school). His name was Trent and he did not look pleased.

“I hate to sound condescending, but shouldn’t Kurt have an audition?” he said and although he did indeed _sound_ sincere, his body language told a whole other story.

“Warbler Kurt ––” Wes started and, oh, goodness, was that going to be his new title? “–– did actually audition, but for reasons that shall not be addressed he did so in private.”

As far as Kurt was concerned he did no such thing but as he looked over at Wes he caught the older boy sending him a quick glance as to ask not to speak against him. Really, it was actually rather interesting to listen to how Wes was lying to all his birdies, so Kurt chose to keep quiet.

“Actually,” Wes continued, “Kurt is the first countertenor the Warblers have had in twenty years, and I believe that he will make a fine addition to the group.”

People were staring at him again and Kurt was staring at Wes because _how the hell did he know that?!_ Wes flashed him another smile before he dropped the subject and started the practise itself –– which turned out to be only consistent of a group of boys trying to figure out a set list for Sectionals which was approaching with storm-steps if one was to believe Wes. They had already decided on one song (a P!nk song of all things) it seemed and were now in the process of trying to pick out the other two.

To summarize the great experience of the greatest club at Dalton: Kurt’s first ever Warbler practise was spent listening to boys in blazers bitch over songs, and later standing in a neat formation, doing vocal warm-ups before practising scales and watching the more popular Warblers sing actual lyrics as he was asked to do those _oh_ ’s and _ah_ ’s that he had been dreadfully waiting for. At the end of the day, Kurt did not feel any more positive or fulfilled then he had when he walked through the holy doors of Dalton’s finest club 90 minutes ago.

“Oh, just before you all take your leave,” Wes called out when Kurt actually thought that practise was over and he could get out of there. “Warbler Jeff asked me to announce that he invites us all to his house this weekend for a Warbler Party.” Cheers filled the room and a few boys hugged and fist bumped him while Jeff himself just took it all with good grace. “As you know,” Wes continued, “only Warblers, be prepared to sleep over and for drunken Warblers doing covers of Lene Marlin and Katy Perry. I’ll see you all on Thursday, until then, practise dismissed.” Soundly, Wes slammed the gavel into the table for a final time; the moment after the doors opened and Warblers started to pour out.

Kurt made sure to get out of there as fast as he could, not really knowing why he wished to get away from the practice room as urgently as he did, but going with the feeling nevertheless. He was already halfway to the Dining Hall when someone unexpected called out after him.

“Hey, Kurt, wait up!” Kurt turned to find Blaine, dapper as ever, almost jogging after him. “Damn, you walk fast,” he commented once he had caught up and Kurt didn’t really know what to make out of Blaine’s actions, so he stayed quiet as they began to walk towards the Dining Hall together.

“So,” Blaine spoke again, “you decided to join the Warblers, huh? I honestly didn’t know that you liked to sing.”

“Technically speaking, you still don’t know that,” Kurt said.

“But why would you join if you don’t enjoy singing?”

Kurt shrugged, which didn’t help to ease the bewildered look Blaine had, but really, Kurt didn’t care.

“Guess I don’t know, though,” Blaine admitted. “But it’s still nice to have you on the team and you know, if you have any questions you can just ask me.”

The boy was really too nice sometimes, Kurt thought as he gave Blaine a well-practised smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem, really.” There was a moment of silence as they reached their destination and Blaine walked next to him up to the food. “So are you thinking about going to Jeff’s party this weekend?” Blaine finally asked.

“Haven’t really thought about it,” Kurt admitted, although he was probably leaning towards a no in his mind already.

“Oh, you have to! Trust me; Warbler parties are always fun in their own special way.”

Sounded like another explanation for a sleepover for lame preppy boys to Kurt, but he said nothing. “I’ll think about it,” he said instead.

* * *

“Jeff,” Sebastian said as nonchalant as he could muster, “weren’t you planning on _studying_ this weekend?”

His friend gave away a sheepish look before he started to walk fast, as if he could possibly out-walk Sebastian on the little way they had left to the Dining Hall.

“Jeff,” Sebastian repeated, this time a bit harsher as he kept in step with the other.

“I know, I know!” Jeff exclaimed, looking guilty. “I _was_ going to, I swear on my grandma, but Wes asked me at lunch today if I could host a Warblers party since my parents were away, and I don’t know. He looked so desperate and explained how he would do it himself, but he doesn’t have the possibility to, and we all know Wes lives well away from Dalton anyway, and I just said yes,” he rambled quickly. To anyone who knew Jeff, it was obvious that he was being earnest, but still, Sebastian wasn’t going to let Jeff off the hook just because he admitted his mistake.

“You’re on the verge of flunking in Math, you do realise this, right?” he pushed instead.

“I _know_!” Jeff groaned dramatically as he tossed his head backwards; suddenly changing his walk so he was practically dragging his feet behind him. “I’m still going to study before the guys come and all of Friday too, and _try_ not to drink too much, I’m gonna try, I promise.”

“Don’t promise me, promise yourself; it’s your grade.”

“Always so wise, Sebastian,” Jeff drawled and Sebastian punched him on the shoulder.

“Shut it, one has to be the mature of us two,” he said.

“And what does that tell about me that that someone happens to be you, huh?”

“That you really have to get your act together, dickhead. And yes, before you ask, I’ll come over and help you.”

“Shut your face,” Jeff said good-heartedly. “And I wasn’t going to ask,” he insisted, “you just want to use my house as accommodation since you’re sick of staying at Dalton on the weekends already.”

“So you don’t want me to help you?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “That’s fine, I’ll just take a club-night out while you study _all by yourself_.”

“I said no such thing! Really, Sebastian, stop making such hasty decisions. It’s fun to be alone in that big house anyway; you’re perfectly welcome to stay.” Jeff’s wide eyes and overly drastic manner was enough to make Sebastian step out of his bravado and snicker at his friend who punched him back in reply.

It was an odd friendship they had, both Sebastian and Jeff were greatly aware that it was, but it suited them all the same. More often than not, one of them possessed what the other one lacked, and in that way they complemented each other since they long ago mastered the art of working together. They had actually met already as kids; their families moved in the same circles so really, it was bound to happen. Steadily, they grew closer and closer as Sebastian became more and more lonely in his own house and often came to stay at Jeff’s, knowing that he was welcome and always had someone to hold him company during Maman’s long trans-Atlantic vacations and father’s weekly business trips.

Well into their dinner, a thought suddenly hit Sebastian though, as he spotted Kurt sitting next to Blaine with their backs turned to him a few tables from where he and Jeff sat with various guys from the Lacrosse team and a few Warblers as well.

“Jeff,” he said lowly, catching his friend’s attention. “Didn’t you say that Wes asked you to hold that Warbler party?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“I think I’ve got a pretty good guess why.” Sebastian nodded towards where the newest member and the little hobbit were sitting and Jeff followed his gaze.

“You mean that Wes wants a party for Kurt?” Jeff asked in a hushed tone, giving Sebastian a raised an eyebrow.

“I think he wants to make Kurt a _Warbler_ as fast as possible,” he answered just as quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you think it’s a little strange that we didn’t get to see Kurt’s audition?” Sebastian pointed out. “Honestly, there’s something off with how the punk came into our glee club and somehow I think that Wes is trying to secure Kurt’s place –– both so that Kurt himself doesn’t leave and so that the other members feel like he’s one of us.”

“But why would Kurt want to leave?” Jeff asked.

“Don’t know yet…” During the rest of the dinner, Sebastian couldn’t help but to glance up at Kurt and Blaine every now and then, the unanswered questions floating around in his mind.

* * *

In light of things, Sebastian took great amusement in observing Kurt once the school found out that he was a Warbler. Per normal Warbler etiquette, most Warblers thought they were now obliged to talk to him –– except Trent who was still upset about the whole bumping-into-and-not-apologising thing, he instead kept a sour expression as Blaine insisted that Kurt would join them for lunch the next day. As for the rest of the school, the boys did seem to try and hold back their surprise and curiosity, but failed miserably at it. Sebastian had the pleasure of seeing how students tried to engage Kurt in a conversation and no matter if their tone was polite or down right offensive, Kurt _always_ shut them down faster than one could write ‘burned’ in their foreheads with a permanent marker. Also, Sebastian thought, it had perhaps been as a statement that he wouldn’t change and was still the same little punk as when he first entered the school that made Kurt continue with his pranks.

Two days after Kurt’s first practice, one after the whole school became aware that his new title was ‘Warbler Kurt’, on a Thursday; Sebastian went down to the Dining Hall for breakfast only to find all the chairs and tables missing. Boys were standing along the walls of the hall and some were sitting right on the floor, gazing over the room as if they were hoping to find a chair behind a potted house plant or something. The great man himself wasn’t to be found at the scene of crime –– yes, Sebastian did try to spot Kurt but he didn’t see any red highlights anywhere. As a result, he went to sit down by where the coffee table _used_ to be, but was now the coffee ground since all the machines and cups were on the floor. Merciful of Kurt to grant them coffee he mused as he poured a cup (great God, the dinner ladies had actually still refilled the machines) and waited to see what would happen next.

Soon enough, Kurt did enter the Dining Hall, Wes by his side, and the whole room turned their heads towards the pair, most of its population undoubtedly glaring daggers. Wes’ mouth fell open at the furniture-less hall and how students were sitting on the floor with plates in their hands; all while the great man himself was as neutral as ever and just walked in between the sitting boys towards Sebastian and the coffee, Wes trailing after him.

“Morning,” Sebastian greeted with a smirk but Kurt only gave him a huff in response before he kneeled down to collect to dark-brown liquid in a cup.

“Good morning, Sebastian,” Wes filled in, probably fully aware that every eye was watching them. “Did yesterday’s Lacrosse practise go well?”

“Pretty good now that all the holes from those damn trees are gone and there’s new, fresh artificial turf growing there in their place,” was what made its way out of Sebastian’s mouth, which, in the light of the current situation wasn’t perhaps the _best_ thing to say, but whatever.

“How nice,” Wes replied dully, looking down at Sebastian with a disappointed glaze.

“Where are all the tables?!” a voice exclaimed in the entry and Sebastian, Wes and Kurt as well as everyone else turned to look at Jeff’s puzzled expression.

“They’re gone,” Sebastian called out in response.

Jeff, who had already started to walk towards him, gave him a glare. “No shit, Sherlock,” he said before giving a polite “good morning,” to Kurt and Wes with a pleasant smile.

“Well you asked so naturally I answered, no need to be offensive,” Sebastian said.

“I think Jeff meant it to be a rhetorical question,” Kurt said and for a moment the three other boys looked at him with wide eyes before Jeff caught up again.

“Yes, exactly; thank you, Kurt.”

Kurt raised his cup as a ‘you’re welcome’ before taking a sip out of it, staying silent once more.

They all went and got some breakfast soon after that, settling down on the floor which Jeff insisted was an exciting experience, and ate while otherwise having a normal conversation. It was not a great surprise that Kurt stayed silent during most of the meal, nor that he made sure to have Wes and Jeff on each side instead of Sebastian himself; however that also meant that Sebastian was granted the great opportunity to stare at him with the purpose to unnerve.

Kurt was eating his food with great delicacy Sebastian found; his movements precise and gracious; always small bites that never seemed to leave much crumble and the food itself was a simple sandwich and an already sliced up orange. He went to refill his coffee twice. Sebastian had never noticed it before, but it also seemed that Kurt Hummel had a tongue piercing –– a question that he soon voiced out loud.

Kurt looked up from his plate with a slightly surprised face while Wes and Jeff turned quiet. Instead of replying with words, however, Kurt just stuck out his tongue at Sebastian like he had craved to do it –– and there it was, a shiny little tongue piercing.

“How many piercings do you actually have?” Jeff asked.

“Apart from the tongue they’re all visible so I think you can do the Math,” Kurt said.

“Oh don’t count on it, Jeff is rubbish at that particular subject,” Sebastian said and Jeff threw a piece of his toast at him. “Hey, I’m only trying to be helpful.”

“Helpful my arse, you just want to bully me into studying.”

“Well, is it working?”

“ _No_ ,” Jeff deadpanned.

A bit later, in the early Thursday afternoon, all the furniture to the Dining Hall was found in the AP French classroom, and all that ran through Sebastian’s mind when he found out was ‘of course.’ Mademoiselle Dufoir gave Kurt the glare of the century as he entered the classroom at the end of the day and it was only because he was absolutely brilliant that Sebastian managed to suppress a giggle. An actual giggle.

At the end of day, Kurt wasn’t busted for this one either, not that anyone was surprised, and the punk’s participation at Warbler practise afterwards was at a minimum. Honestly, no one (except Wes, perhaps) actually knew whether Kurt could sing or not –– but no one questioned it because they all trusted that he was with them for a reason. Hopefully, Sebastian thought, one could perhaps manage to coax a song out of Kurt at Jeff’s party this weekend –– which, now that Sebastian thought of it, seemed like a great reason for Wes to ask Jeff to host a Warblers party. If Kurt decided to come to the party that was.

To get an answer, Sebastian bluntly asked Kurt “Are you gonna come to Jeff’s this weekend?” after practise, walking next to Kurt to the Dining Hall even though Kurt seemed to try to out-walk him.

“Maybe,” Kurt said, looking straight ahead.

“I can tell that you’re lying you know.”

“Oh, really; how?”

“Because you’re trying to get rid of me, you won’t look me in the eye, and you obviously do not want this conversation,” Sebastian outlined it neatly. Kurt finally slowed down a little and turned his head to glare at Sebastian.

“Why are you pushing this?” he asked.

“You really want to know?” Sebastian asked in return and earned a nice little _bitch please_ -face from the punk. “Truthfully, because I get easily bored and I find you intriguing –– so you sort of make me less bored. And it does help that you’re super hot.”

Kurt’s eyes went wide at the last comment and he looked scarily pissed off and awkwardly lost all at once. “So what? I’m some sort of entertainment to you?” he asked.

“You wanted to know the truth and unlike you, I don’t lie about where I stand,” Sebastian pointed out. “And entertainment is pretty harsh I think; it’s more like making a new friend; except I don’t really want you as my friend.”

“Oh, and how do you want me then?” Kurt snapped.

“Naked underneath me on a flat surface, a bed preferably.”

For a moment Kurt halted, before he started to blush furiously and kept walking like nothing had happened. “As if I’d ever let that happen,” he grumbled.

“You better wait to read until the end of the book before you claim to know how it ends.” Sebastian smirked. “Anyway, I do think that you should come to the Warbler partly, naked or not.”

“You totally lack a filter, don’t you?”

“Speculation and research has been done about the matter and experts have yet to come up with an answer, but I can tell you right now that I do have one; I just ignore it.” Sebastian flashes Kurt a wink before continuing. “But really, the Warblers are rather lame at times but our parties _are_ actually fun even though they don’t usually turn out to be like the stereotypical ideal of what a teenage party should be. It really is just a night of derping around, as dumb as it sounds, and it’s one of those few times in the club where everyone just gets to _be_ and sing whatever and get drunk and laugh and _not_ having dear Wesley slamming that damn gavel, _callin’_ for order,” he finished off in a joking voice.

Kurt raised an eyebrow in his direction and eyes him critically and per usual fashion, Sebastian smirked right back at him.

“What’s it to you if I go or not?” Kurt asked.

“Always so careful…” Sebastian sighed. “I think that it’s safe to say that while my reasons are far from pure they’re at least honest and not told just to persuade you, Sid Vicious, dear.”

Kurt snorted at the nickname and shook his head; but hey, at least he had stopped glaring! “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

“Personally, I hate that phrase.”

“Why?”

“Because of course you can _think_ about it –– and I want from you is to _consider_ it.”

“Okay, fine,” Kurt actually chucked. “I’ll _consider_ it, just for you Sebastian.”

“You know all the secret ways to my heart, killer.” With that, Sebastian let Kurt walk away from him, enjoying the little blush he saw before he couldn’t see Kurt’s face anymore, and then enjoyed that amazing arse.

* * *

Kurt liked to think that it was not Sebastian but Blaine who managed to convince him to go. Or at least he _would_ like to think so, but unfortunately for him, the opposite was painfully obvious as Sebastian’s arguments and flirtatious words continued to ring in his head; where’s Blaine only had his boyish excitement to battle with. Still, it was either spending the weekend at Dalton and then drive to Jeff’s house on Saturday to then go back to Dalton the day after (since Jeff’s house may be half an hour from Dalton, but calculating how many miles he would have to travel back and forth it added up to be a lot of gas and useless trips). And while just going home _would_ initially be easier, Kurt reckoned that becoming more a part of the group would actually benefit him in the long run since Wes would most likely make sure that Kurt stayed in the club until Wes’ graduation.

Telling his dad about his plans turned out to be surprisingly easy; although Burt had sounded suspicious at first, he then moved on and was thrilled to hear that his son was by his own free will choosing to spend his weekend with his classmates (because yeah, Kurt didn’t mention the show choir thing). And that’s how Kurt found himself driving up Jeff’s ridiculously long driveway to a house so luxurious that Kurt is almost waiting for a strong wind to pass by and knock down the backdrop. That didn’t happen, though, so he just had to park his car next to all the posh cars of his teammates (and an old Toyota, well-kept but old, wonder owned that one) and then take the final steps to the front door. Judging by the loud sound of music that could be heard from outside, Kurt was actually surprised to find that someone had heard and opened the door when he knocked.

“Kurt!” Jeff exclaimed in delight and then pulled Kurt inside, giving him a one-arm hug. “I’m so glad you could make it; wasn’t really sure that you were gonna come since you didn’t ask for directions or anything,” he blond continued to say.

“Oh, well, I have a GPS in my phone so it wasn’t really all that hard to find,” Kurt said in an attempt for small-talk.

“Yes, apparently you’re right –– anyway, you can hang your jacket out here and just dump the rest of your stuff somewhere people won’t walk on them; we’re gonna pull out mattresses later into the living room to sleep on.”

“Sounds like some jolly gay fun,” Kurt drawled but Jeff just laughed.

“Well, that’s the Warblers for you: Jolly and gay, even though most of us are straight,” he said. It sounded like bullshit to Kurt, but he decided not to comment on it, not really up for having a conversation about sexualities. Jeff showed him the way to the living room where all the other Warblers were occupying, mostly chatting and drinking while some of the more tipsy ones were dancing and humming to David’s cover of _Hot n Cold_ , originally by Katy Perry. Kurt could feel the dread creeping up inside of him already.

“Kurt!” he heard Blaine Anderson’s voice suddenly exclaim and not even a moment later had the boy materialised himself right beside him, smiling that dapper smile of his. “So you decided to come after all, _awesome_.”

“Yeah, well, I’m glad you talked me into it,” Kurt answered even though he knew how much of a lie the statement was. It didn’t matter because no one needed to know and Blaine looked happy to hear that he was the reason to Kurt’s attendance.

“I’m glad, too. Would you like a beer or something?”

“Yeah, a beer would be nice.” Kurt didn’t really like that kind of beverage to be honest, but it was much easier to ask for than a drink or a glass of wine, and he didn’t feel like getting drunk at this place anyway. A beer would give him that warm buzz of slightly tipsiness that he wanted to make the night at least a _little_ more bearable. Blaine soon came back with said beer and a bottle for himself as well, and then insisted on them sitting down in one of the empty couches in the room. It was kind of nice because it meant that Kurt could proceed with his wonderful hobby of observing people while still actually looking like an active member of the group.

“So how do you like the Warblers so far?” Blaine asked before taking a sip.

“Well, you’re all very welcoming,” Kurt said a little sarcastically and Blaine just laughed.

“You’re a part of the gang now; Warblers shall always have each other’s back and never let another sit by themselves.”

“You say ‘the gang’ like you’re actually badarse,” Kurt said jokingly.

“The Warblers are plenty or badarse I’ll have you know,” Blaine insisted, going along with Kurt’s jokingly tone. “Once we did a random performance in the corridor, totally improvised, just because we felt like it,” he said faux solemnly.

“Oh lord, you’ve proven me wrong; how on earth did you even dare to do such an _outrageous_ thing?”

“It takes a certain amount of courage to do it,” Blaine said. “And a certain amount of charm to get away with it.” He grinned at Kurt who couldn’t help but to chuckle at his witty little comment.

Blaine was nice to talk to, Kurt thought; he was charming and good at keeping a conversation and did have his moments of witticism, much to Kurt’s delight. He ended up spending the better part of the evening next to Blaine on that couch, watching all the Warblers around him getting more drunk and drunk by the minute, Blaine included. Turned out that the other boy was a real light weight in comparison to Kurt, but he turned out to be a very cute and clingy little drunk.

“You know,” Blaine said surely from where he was half-leaning at Kurt’s shoulder. “I think I have a song in my heart right now, and I wanna go out and sing it.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Kurt asked fondly.

The little encouragement was all Blaine needed as he stood up, flashed Kurt one last smile before taking the place next to the ‘stage’ right next to the stereo.

“I wanna sing a song,” he declared and most Warblers who heard him made various sounds of approval as he got himself ready and looked up the song on the computer connected to the stereo. As soon as Blaine sang the first line, the Warblers started to cheer and applaud while Blaine flashed them a smile before starting to dance modestly to the easy beat. Quickly a few others were on their feet and joined him and together, about five Warblers made an acapella version over the original song which was taken from Kurt’s childhood. This was nothing like Kurt had ever witnessed before; totally improvised performances which still held such a good quality seeing it was performed by tipsy to downright drunk prep-boys, and honestly, Kurt enjoyed every second of it. Blaine was a great singer and the Warblers did in general hold a great potential –– it was obvious to anyone who could see them right now. Too bad that all this talent weren’t utilized where it mattered, though, Kurt thought to himself. This weren’t the time to ponder of things that weren’t and could be however, mostly because Kurt quickly realised that no one was about to let him.

Blaine’s performance opened the gateway to boy-acapella covers of up-beat pop songs; he even got to see Wes do a cover of freaking Westlife together with David. But when Blaine, who had returned to his place next to Kurt directly after he had given the stage to the next song bird, elbowed Kurt gently, getting his attention.

“What about you?” he asked nicely.

“What about me?”

“Aren’t you gonna sing, too?” Blaine continued and nodded towards the stage where Nick and Jeff were doing a mock-cover over some Hannah Montana song.

“I don’t really think so,” Kurt said and Blaine opened his mouth to say something but before he could get a word out another voice from behind the couch where they were sitting spoke up.

“Well, that’s really stupid,” Sebastian drawled before he jumped over the couches’ back and damped down on the other side of Kurt.

“Excuse me?” Kurt snapped.

“You’re excused; now prove to us all why Wes insisted on making you a Warbler.” There was a clear challenge in Sebastian’s voice and Kurt didn’t like it; it was almost a second nature of his to never back down.

“Don’t sound so condescending, Sebastian,” Blaine said, leaning forward so he could throw the other Warbler a tipsy glare. “I’m sure that Kurt has an amazing vocal capability and has every reason to be a Warbler.” Blaine’s defensive manner was almost endearing and it did bring a small smile to Kurt’s face, but he was more than capable to battle against Sebastian by himself. Still, it was nice to know that someone had his back.

“Thank you for your input, Blaine, but it doesn’t change the fact that none of us have actually _heard_ Kurt sing,” Sebastian drawled. “Or don’t you dare to? I bet you don’t,” he then turned back to Kurt.

“I find it absolutely pointless to prove myself _to you_ since I know exactly what I am capable of,” Kurt began and Sebastian looked as if he had won already. But hell no, Kurt was going to wipe off that smarmy smirk one way or another. “But since you seem so anxious to lose, I might just have to help you get it over with.” With those words, Kurt stood up and slowly but steadily walked over to destined stage. Why the hell was he doing this, though?! Maybe he was much more drunk than he thought because, really, just Sebastian’s half-arsed provocation shouldn’t be enough to make him tick. Or maybe it was the flare of a challenge, no matter how small that had captured his interest. Maybe it was the thought of ‘oh, if McKinley High could see me right now.’ Maybe he actually _did_ want to prove himself, not to Sebastian or maybe not even to the Warblers, but _to himself_ that he actually did have what it took to be one of them, even though he felt like a blackbird among warblers really. Whatever. He was doing this now; and the whole room sort of died down a little as he stepped up and turned around to face them.

He didn’t know what to say, so naturally he said nothing, and instead turned to the computer to pull up the first song that popped into his mind (because of course he hadn’t really thought anything up before he got off his arse, idiotic as he could be). It didn’t take long to find was he was looking for.

“Maybe not the happiest of songs,” was all he said as an introduction and then he just [pressed play](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kZk1H5Hhb08).

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_ ––

_take these broken wings and learn to fly._

_All your life:_

_You were only waiting for this moment to arise._

 

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_ ––

_take these sunken eyes and learn to see._

_All your life:_

_You were only waiting for this moment to be free._

 

_Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly;_

_into the light of the dark black night._

 

_Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly;_

_into the light of the dark black night._

 

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_ ––

_take these broken wings and learn to fly._

_All your life:_

_You were only waiting for this moment to arise;_

_You were only waiting for this moment to arise;_

_You were only waiting for this moment to arise._

He hadn’t really expected the Warblers to join him just like that with their background singing –– but he _really_ didn’t expect the little song to cause such a reaction like it did. Almost every Warbler was on his feet after the last tone of the song and rushed over to Kurt, surrounding him like some gangster gang about to beat the shit out of him. Their goal was quite the opposite though.

“Oh my God, Kurt, I didn’t know you had a voice like that!” Blaine exclaimed delightfully and pulled him into some sort of hug of congratulation that just made Kurt grow stiff.

“Yeah, I mean I absolutely _love_ The Beatles, but you completely _nailed it_!” Nick said as soon as Blaine let him go, and several boys nodded in agreement.

“Well, thank God you’re on the team, then,” Sebastian said –– Kurt hadn’t really noticed him standing there in the crowd along with the others; but he didn’t miss the way the whole seemed to agree with Sebastian.

“Feel sorry to lose a bet, then?” Kurt asked.

“I wasn’t really playing for winning,” was all he got in reply, followed by a wink, and then Sebastian left him alone for the rest of the night. Kurt didn’t really know what to make of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who wondered: Blaine sang "Sitting Down Here", originally by Lene Marlin (and GOD if that song isn't nostalgic!)


	7. Breakfast & Closet Mechanics

Kurt woke up disturbingly early the next day on the floor of Jeffery’s living room, where all the Warblers had decided to fall asleep together. He lied in a corner under some pillows and with a blanket that he had been able to secure before falling asleep draped over him; Blaine lying next to him, sleeping like a baby. Unlike Blaine, though, Kurt always had a hard time sleeping on something that wasn’t a bed; and even a harder time sleeping in a crowded place. With a glance at his phone he established that the time some minutes after eight o’clock. Had he been at home or in his dormitory even, he would easily have lulled himself back to sleep but as it was, he knew that it would a fruit-less attempt. So instead, he easily made his way out from under the blanket –– careful not to wake anyone.

With light feet, Kurt made his way into the kitchen, which he had located the night before. Thankfully it was empty (every song-bird was probably still sleeping, Kurt mused) and he much more hurriedly now walked straight to the coffee machine. Moving quickly, Kurt had within a minute a full pot brewing, thinking that when the Warblers finally woke up they would be grateful for having coffee waiting for them. Kurt knew that he would.

Watching a coffee machine’s process wasn’t much more entertaining than watching paint dry, though, and Kurt sighed as he jumped up to sit on the dining table opposite the counter where the machine stood. Suddenly someone opened one of the doors to the kitchen and Kurt jumped before seeing Nick entering.

“Oh, good morning, Kurt –– thought I was the only one awake,” Nick said a bit sheepishly and threw him a smile.

“Just woke up,” Kurt said.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“Couldn’t fall back to sleep more like it.”

“I feel you,” Nick said as he sat down next to Kurt. “People breathing heavily in general have always disturbed my sleep in general.”

Silence fell over them as Kurt added nothing to their conversation. But it wasn’t as much of an awkward silence as he had expected; in fact Nick seemed fine with the quietness as he leaned on the table next to Kurt, he too watching the coffee machine now. Soon enough, the coffee was ready and Kurt leaped up from his seat and poured himself a cup (since, of course, he had already gone through the cupboards in search of a decent mug beforehand) and then added milk and sugar while in the corner of his eye seeing Nick do the same.

Like always, the first sip was heaven, as was the second and third; by the fifth Kurt decided that he could handle walking around the table and actually sitting down properly. He took a seat next to Nick, who had actually also made himself a sandwich before sitting down. Kurt looked at it with a raised eyebrow –– personally he didn’t feel comfortable lurking through other people’s kitchens if he weren’t specifically asked to or in the pursue of coffee –– but Nick seemed to have different values. The raven-haired boy chuckled at Kurt’s critical look.

“I’m usually the first to wake up at these events and by now I know where more or less everyone keeps their bread and butter because I’m _always hungry_ when I wake up for some reason,” he explained. “It did feel really intrusive at first, especially on my first Warbler sleep over, to sneak around in people’s kitchens; like I said, though,  always hungry. The first time I didn’t actually eat anything before someone else woke up, and they laughed at my face and called me silly.”

“Who hosted your first sleepover?” Kurt asked curiously.

“Actually, it was also Jeff, but it was Sebastian who called me out before showing me where to find things. He and Jeff are actually really close, and I swear, he walks around in this house like he lives here –– sometimes I even think he does.”

“Really?” While Kurt _had_ seen the two of them together rather often, he had only assumed it was because they shared classes and were on the lacrosse team together as well as the Warblers. Turns out he was wrong, though.

“I swear,” Nick continued, “when more Warblers start to drift awake, Sebastian will enter the kitchen and _usually_ he would curse me for not making any coffee –– the only problem is that I will _never_ get how that machine works –– then he would make some for himself before emptying almost every cupboard and the fridge, presenting the breakfast for the now half sleepwalking Warblers that are coming through the door.”

“I find it hard to imagine…” Kurt said honestly.

“Yeah, if I hadn’t seen it myself, I probably would have, too. Sebastian only does it at Jeff’s and his place, though. If this had been any other Warbler’s house he wouldn’t have given a rats arse and instead complained very loudly why there weren’t any coffee for him when he finally dragged his arse up.” Both Kurt and Nick found themselves laughing softly at the image because yeah, that seemed more like the Sebastian Kurt knew.

“So, I really have to say, once again, you have an amazing voice, Kurt,” Nick said after a while and Kurt battled down a blush that was threatening to show up across his face at the earnest complement. To make it worse, Nick continued. “Really, we’re really lucky to have you on the team.”

“Thanks, but I think you’re exaggerating a little,” Kurt mumbled into his cup, not ready to hear what Nick had to say.

“No way! And besides, if you ask me, the Warblers need all the good voices we can get for Sectionals.”

“Nick,” Kurt said a bit suddenly, sitting up a little straighter. “I get that this may sound a bit weird, but I was just wondering: How do things normally play out whenever the Warblers get ready for Sectionals?” he tried to phrase it as smoothly as possible.

“Usually? Well, we spend the better part of the period before any official performance debating over the song choice and _usually_ we decide on the set list together, as a group. Sometimes a group or a certain Warbler gets to make the final call –– other times the council steps in and makes things come together in order to just get a set list so we can start practising. Often the lead soloists are decided then, too –– by auditions mostly, but not always –– and then it’s practise, practise, practise until deadline really.”

“Sounds like you waste an awful lot of time just discussing,” Kurt pointed out.

“Well, yeah, but that’s the Warblers for you.” Nick shrugged.

“How many solos have you gotten then?”

“Me? Well, all in all, about three, I think.”

“That’s not too many,” Kurt said a bit surprised but Nick had the decency to look unbothered by the fact; actually, he seemed fine by it.

“We choose who gets the solos based on who we think will carry out the best performance, and usually that someone is Blaine.” Kurt would have expected some kind of grudge in Nick’s tone but he found none, which was just a new shade of weird. His disbelief must have shown because Nick chuckled before continued to explain, “I get that it sounds like the Warblers is a one man show when you say it like that, but really, we all just know that Blaine is great, so it’s always a safe choice. Besides, Sebastian usually takes a solo whenever we compete too, to give some variety.”

“Still sounds rather monotonous to me; I mean I was here yesterday along with you –– there are many great singers in this glee club,” Kurt argued.

“I guess,” Nick began but then didn’t get any further as the doors to the kitchen opened once again and a zombie-like Sebastian Smythe trailed through the doorway, making some grunting noise as he opened a cupboard and pulled out a cup. Kurt and Nick watched in silent fascination how Sebastian, hair sloppy as ever and only clad in a washed out purple t-shirt and a pair of black boxers made himself a cup of black coffee, took a slip and then began to drag his legs over to Nick.

“So you finally learned how to use the coffee machine, I see,” was the first comprehendible thing that came out of Sebastian’s mouth. “I could kiss you, Nick,” he said and then began to lazily lean forward like he was about to do exactly just that.

“ _Actually_ ,” Nick said loud and clear but with a slight panic in his voice, “it was _Kurt_ who put on the coffee; I’m still ignorant as ever!”

Sebastian’s eyes immediately snapped up at him in a most uncomfortable way and Kurt tried to huff life he couldn’t care less before looking at anything that wasn’t Sebastian.

“Is that so…” he drawled, straightening up a little. “How am I to thank you?”

Kurt thought about it for a moment before he met Sebastian’s eyes once more, keeping as much of a cool exterior as possible. “Breakfast would be nice,” he replied and a lazy smirk appeared across Sebastian’s face.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” he said and then moved away from the table and started to pull out things from cupboards and the fridge, just like Nick said he would, all while sipping his coffee. On the empty side of the table he placed two different kinds of bread together with a cutting board and a bread knife, butter and various sandwich fillings, juice, the pot of coffee Kurt had made (on a table mat, thankfully), cups, small plates, sugar, milk, jam and also a fruit basket that neither Kurt nor Nick knew existed. He made it seem like he could do this in his sleep, and judging by his lazy manner and lack of talking, he probably was half asleep right now. But then Sebastian pulled out a waffle iron which he plugged in and started to whip together a batter. Kurt didn’t think too much of until he noticed the baffled expression on Nick’s face and he himself raised an eyebrow in question once Nick met his gaze.

“I’ve actually never seem Sebastian cook _anything_ ,” Nick whispered before shrugging a little and Kurt hummed and drank his coffee, choosing not to let his mind ponder over Sebastian’s sudden waffle-making. Soon, the whole kitchen was filled with the smell of freshly baked waffles, drawing more than one Warbler into the land of the living and into the kitchen. Sebastian took one of the small plates and laid up the first waffle on it before filling the iron with more batter and letting it bake. He then pulled out a fork and knife from a drawer and walked over to where Kurt sat, placing the dish in front of him. Kurt frowned a little at the plate in front of him and Sebastian laughed softly at his perplexity.

“You said you wanted breakfast,” Sebastian said, raising an eyebrow in fondness as he looked down at Kurt, “and you gave me coffee so I give you waffles, since everyone loves waffles.”

“So what you’re really saying,” Nick said before Kurt could come up with an appropriate reply, “is that if you had gotten coffee as soon as you stumbled into the kitchen at each and every sleepover at your or Jeff’s place _there would be waffles_?!”

Sebastian’s smirk simply widened into an obnoxious proportion as he glanced over at Nick before turning back to the waffle iron, continuing to make waffles and telling eager Warblers to fuck off because the waffle wasn’t ready yet. Kurt himself decided to just accept the waffles because _yay, waffles!_ and asked that Thad, who stood near the jam, passed it to him. It was the first time Kurt had waffles in what felt like forever, and it brought him a sort of childish joy to not have to make your own waffles, and he tried really hard not to let it show.

“Oh my God, Bas, are you making waffles?!” Jeff was suddenly heard shouting as he burst through the kitchen doors, hair all rumbled and both wide eyed and awake.

“No, I’m getting down to business to defeat the Huns,” Sebastian replied immediately and several boys in the kitchen chuckled at the reference but Jeff, who apparently knew Sebastian better than most, just rolled his eyes.

“Give. Me,” he then proceeded to demand and then got into a minor debate whether he was allowed to cut in the waffle-line or not (Jeff’s argument was that it was his ingredients and therefore his waffles all along) before Sebastian called him childish and that he had to wait just like all the others. It was weird to watch how Sebastian would be the mature of the two and Jeff being, admittedly, childish as he punched Sebastian lightly to the side and told him that he was a bad friend.

As soon as Blaine had woken up from his slumber he took the seat next to Kurt instead of going back into the living room where most boys ate their breakfast and it was downright _nice_ to have a cute boy sitting down next to you the first thing they do after getting coffee and a sandwich. It also felt very odd to sit in the middle of two boys whose company he actually enjoyed, having an active conversation with the two of them when Kurt was so used to staying quiet or just share a quiet dialogue with _one_ person like he had come to do more and more since starting at Dalton. It filled him with warmth, as silly as it sounded.

* * *

About midday, all the boys finally began to go home one by one, some of them packing up their stuff and walking together over to their cars. Kurt was still in Blaine and Nick’s company, chatting lightly with the two of them and also Jeff who was walking them out the door. Wherever Sebastian was held was a mystery that Kurt rather not find the answer to, instead he tried to enjoy the moment before he was home again. They reached Blaine’s car first and he bid goodbye, since he, unlike Kurt, didn’t live far from Dalton and would go by his house and spend some time with his family and later in the evening return to Dalton; Kurt and Nick would drive straight to their school. Jeff told them that he and Sebastian would first and foremost empty his house of all Warblers and then tidy up a little (and maybe study, he mumbled) before going back to Dalton, and they may or may not see them at dinner.

Nick’s car was the next one in the row of cars and it turned out to be the Toyota that Kurt had earlier singled out and wondered about. Kurt noticed how both Nick and Jeff lingered a bit longer around each other before Nick finally jumped inside his car, and Kurt stored the information inside his head, deciding to figure out the two boys dynamics at a later date. Just as now only he and Jeff walked up to his own car, much further down at the drive way, they heard a pair of loud steps behind them. When he turned to see that the steps belonged to, Kurt saw a frustrated Nick marching up to them. Jeff noticed the other boy’s distress too and gently asked, “What’s the matter, Nick?”

“My car won’t start,” Nick grumbled, followed by a great sigh.

After a moment of consideration, wherein Nick and Jeff talked about what could possibly be wrong with the damn car, Kurt unlocked his car and threw in his stuff in the back seat before opening the baggage and pulling out his toolbox.

“Let’s go see what the matter is then,” he said and locked his car once more, and started to walk up the driveway. Nick and Jeff had gone quiet and Kurt tried not to take any notice of it as they walked up to his car. “May I have the keys?” he asked Nick who handed them to him without a word. He sat down in the driver’s seat himself and tried starting the car to find that it indeed didn’t want to and Kurt then popped open the hood without a second thought.

“You like cars, then Kurt?” Jeff asked, quarter nervous, the rest curious.

Kurt made a noncommittal sound as he climbed out of the car opened up the hood. “My dad owns a Mechanic shop,” he started to explain, glancing up at the two boys. “I was basically brought up there and worked at the shop whenever I needed some extra cash or when my dad wanted to keep an eye on me.” He gave them a mean smile before he turned his attention back to the engine, checking all the usual spots. After a quick overlook, he spotted the problem. “I seems that your battery posts are corroded and clogging the start up,” he told Nick who gave him a worried look.

“Can it be fixed?” he asked.

“Of course, will just take some time, that’s all,” Kurt assured him before opening up his toolbox, taking the tools he would need and then mumbled, “Crap, I’m out,” to himself as he looked down at the empty bottle in his box. He looked up at the boys once more who both looked quite alarmed by his mumble, and Kurt found it rather funny. “I’m just out of my fluid to clean with, but it’s no biggie. Jeff, if you could go inside and get some Coca-Cola and some warm water then that would be great.”

“Coca-Cola?” Jeff said, looking as confused as ever. “ _Really_?”

“Jeff, if nothing else, one can always use Coke, and I trust you have some left from yesterday, yeah?”

“Definitely, my little brother is addicted to it anyway so there’s always a bottle _somewhere_. I’ll just go get it then?”

“Yes.” As Jeff walked back to the house, Kurt took of his jacket and held it out for Nick to hold and then started to take out the battery.

Nick finally seemed to have found his voice again when Kurt hovered over the engine and spoke. “You really are a man of many talents,” he said, almost solemnly, and Kurt had to stop what he was going and look up at him.

“ _What_?” Kurt said, taken aback by the sudden statement.

“I mean,” Nick shrugged, “you’re very intelligent even though you sleep through your lessons, you can sing and now fix cars!” he exclaimed at the end. “What can’t you do?”

_Tell my dad I’m gay?_ Kurt’s mind immediately responded, but thankfully his brain-mouth filter was at its usual full capacity and nothing came out. Instead Kurt simply shrugged.

“I don’t think the capability to do a lot of different things is a talent,” he said instead, turning back to the battery. “And furthermore, talented doesn’t equal nice people because some can be absolutely amazing at what they do, but still be an utter arsehole. I think that the first and foremost thing to value in a person is if they are nice or not –– everything else is like a bonus or something,” he finished off lamely.

“Well you _are_ nice, Kurt,” Nick said simply. “I mean, you just pulled out a toolbox that no one knew you had and then started to fix my car without even being asked to do so. That’s being nice. And thank you, by the way.” Nick laughed a little and Kurt turned his head and gave him a small grin.

“You’re welcome.”

Just as Kurt had freed the battery posts, Jeff returned with the Coke and water, but also with Sebastian walking next to him; a shit-eating grin apparent over Sebastian’s (not at all otherwise handsome) face.

“Perfect timing,” Kurt said to Jeff with a smile, trying to ignore Sebastian the best he could. That didn’t work for very long, though.

“Jeff said that you needed soda to clean Nick’s battery,” Sebastian said like he actually thought Kurt would be pulling their legs when he sent Jeff inside.

“Yes, what does that have to do with you?” Kurt replied, taking the bottle of Coke.

“You’re _really_ gonna pour that on the engine?” Sebastian asked and Kurt finally looked at him with a glare.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, it’s just that last time I checked, Coke wasn’t in my maid’s cleaning supply kit.” Of course Sebastian has a cleaning maid, Kurt though.

“That’s because she hadn’t forgotten to replace an empty bottle with a new one in her toolbox, Sebastian,” Kurt said as sweetly and informatively as he could managed and then proceeded to pour soda over the battery posts. As the liquid bubbled up, Kurt turned his head to see both Jeff and Sebastian looking rather shocked that Kurt actually did as he said he would, while Nick seemed surprisingly fine with having Kurt pouring Coca-Cola on his car.

Kurt let the Coke work a moment longer before he reached for the pitcher with warm water and poured it over as well. After a quick examination, Kurt saw that the corrosion was gone, and he started to connect the battery to engine once more. When he was done, he asked Nick to try to start the car again, which he did, and the Toyota came to life in an instant. Kurt knew that it would, but it was still nice to too see that his skills hadn’t yet paled and to have Nick thanking him over and over.

“I can’t believe that the Coke really worked,” Jeff said, still a bit baffled and Kurt chuckled.

“Yeah, well, I do know a trick or two,” he replied, which caused both Nick and Sebastian to laugh a little. Then they said good bye and see you soon one final time before Kurt and Nick drove of and the other two returned to Jeff’s impressive house.


	8. Waltz

A couple of weeks went by without anything remotely interesting happening, apart from a massive overload in school. Mrs Zielinski was particularly nasty today in the way she called out Kurt time and time again, trying to catch him off guard and damn well near succeeded once or twice. He made a mental note to try to study ahead a bit just to spite her, and perhaps seal every single drawer on her desk with superglue or something. Or perhaps her chair and table, that way she wouldn’t be able to peer over her desktop at him, which he was certain she took great pleasure in doing. He hadn’t decided yet; it was a prank in progress.

Still, the hag had left him in a foul mood at the end of her lesson, and he walked his rapid steps towards his World History class where he damped down in his seat with a rather loud sound. Blaine soon arrived too and took one good look at Kurt before saying, “Well isn’t someone jolly today?”

“Euphoric,” Kurt drawled.

“I know Zielinski can be really awful,” Blaine continued in a caring voice as he sat down, “but perhaps, and this is just a suggestion, you shouldn’t fall asleep on her lessons.”

“Why? It’s not like she teaches me anything anyway.”

“Yeah, but most teachers don’t like it when their students sleep through their lessons,” Blaine pointed out helpfully.

“And most students don’t like it when their teacher single them out and try to catch them off guard either, but do you see me sending death glares to the only pierced guy in the classroom? Nooo,” he drew out the vowel. “The only way to defeat this certain kind of teacher is to prove to be smarter and know more than she will ever think you capable of, and then smear it in her face.”

“Well I’m glad that you’re not thinking about blowing her desktop up or something.”

Kurt gave him a funny look. “Why would I do that? I could get expelled. But I’ll probably be sent to the headmistress one of these days anyway,” he continued. “It’s only a matter of time before either Zielinski or Dufour will accuse me of cheating.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Am perfectly so! I was sent to principal Figgins at least five times a year for that in particular at McKinley –– people have this weird idea that just because you’re not at the lesson you don’t know anything about the subject. And one time the cheerio coach thought my handwriting looked different in a test I did, so I had to sit there and write in front of her, the teacher and the principal to prove my innocence.”

“Why did the _cheerleader coach_ look at your test?” Blaine asked a bit confused.

“She was determined to find me guilty of _something_ ever since _someone_ messed with the dry-cleaning shipment to Europe that she had for her Cheerios’ uniforms and sent them to a secondhand store in Nebraska instead.”

“Oh my God.”

“But she basically runs the school anyway, so it’s no surprise that she got a hold of my test. I think she had made a habit of browsing through my exams and results in hope of finding something off before I transferred.”

Blaine looked like he wanted to ask just what kind of school Kurt had went to before coming to Dalton, but Mrs. Wimberly chose that moment to walk into the room and kick start the lessons with asking some rhetorical question before launching into another one of her lectures.

“Are you really going to doze off _again_?” Blaine whispered to him and Kurt was about to do just that.

“It would seem so,” he replied.

“You _do_ realise that we have a paper to write by tomorrow, right?”

“But she isn’t giving us time to do that now; instead she’s talking about what facts should be in it –– so really, I don’t see why I have to stay awake.”

“You said it yourself: Because she’s talking about what should be in the paper.”

“I can figure that out myself.”

With a sigh, Blaine gave up and returned to scribble down notes while Kurt let himself fall asleep in normal fashion. But what he really fancied was a cigarette. Perhaps he could finish eating lunch quickly and sneak up the roof to take drag, or perhaps ditch English after lunch altogether. He knew that Chamberlin would remind them about the book analysis they had doing in the class, since it was also due tomorrow, and he would therefore be unlikely to give them any other homework as well. Or say anything of substance.

In the end, Kurt _did_ skip his English class after lunch in favour of sitting above his dormitory and watching a few blackbirds and doves fly across the sky. He knew that he still smelled faintly of cigarette smoke when he walked to his next class, but it was beyond him to care. Kurt knew that no one would catch him smoking anyway. When he later went to his French class, Wes gave him a disapproving look that spoke levels, but not even Mr. (Almost) Perfect Record said anything about it. Yet.

In a usual manner, Dufour was an utter bitch; Zielinski was an ant’s fart in comparison to her. But in one aspect, Kurt could find it in him to find something good to say about her: And that was that she at least seemed to care. In a weird, off-putting way, yes, but she did care if her students did their work or not and if they managed the class. In that sense, her approach of teaching was quite efficient, though Kurt, as previously stated, did not believe that capacity and age went hand in hand the way she seemed to. Just because two people were born into the same year group it did not automatically mean that they would develop and learn at the same speed; people were individuals, ith different thoughts and ideas –– not robots. One can be better at athletics than another, who perhaps had a talent for linguistics; one could be practical and another theoretical; one could be straight and another was gay. And this was a difference that no school system, religious ideal, or political reform could ever change.

On second thought, Kurt ought to write about this is his next Psychology paper, the human mind’s ability to learn, that was –– not the gay part. Sooner or later Dufour and Zielinski might compare notes in hope of expelling him, and then a paper like this was bound to firstly piss Zielinski off because it was well written, and then later Dufour because of her beliefs. He only needed to look for an opening.

“ _What are you thinking so hard about_?” Sebastian whispered to him in French, regrettably making Kurt startle.

“ _Homework_ ,” he replied quietly, which wasn’t entirely untrue either.

“ _Really_.”

“ _Not my problem if you don’t believe me_ ,” Kurt snapped and turned back to pretend to focus on what Dufour was saying even though it was no secret that Kurt couldn’t care less about her words. He was just trying to block out Sebastian.

“ _So are you gonna explain anytime soon why you smell like an ashtray_?” Sebastian continued their conversation a moment later and against his better judgment, Kurt answered.

“ _Why, am I in some sort of trouble_?”

“ _You know that smoking is prohibited on school grounds_.”

“ _Well I wasn’t exactly on the ground when I took one_.”

A calculating expression came over Sebastian’s face when Kurt turned to look at him, but the meerkat quickly brushed it off with his trademark smirk. “ _Climbing the trees of Dalton isn’t exactly allowed either, you know_.”

That didn’t even deserve a comeback, and Kurt just rolled his eyes before trying to ignore Sebastian for real now. Their small conversations during French were becoming more and more frequent despite Kurt’s best efforts to try and make them the opposite. It was all Sebastian’s fault really, for continuing to whisper commentary into Kurt’s ear (although he always did it in French which admittedly was good practise for Kurt) and it was getting harder and harder not to reply. The damn prep wouldn’t give up either, and just ten minutes or so after Kurt tuned him out, he leaned closer, and whispered, “ _Do you think she teaches because she wants to prove her knowledge, or because she likes to boss people around?_ ” into Kurt’s ear, and discussion Dufour _was_ something Kurt was found off, especially when done right under her nose.

“ _Both_ ,” Kurt said as he straightened up in his seat. “ _Perhaps she began because of an admirable notion –– like sharing her knowledge to the people or something_ –– _but with time she found her inner tyrant_.”

Sebastian _giggled_ at his response, which was a rare thing to hear and Kurt couldn’t help but to look at his smiling and admittedly handsome face –– before it morphed into a snug expression that made Kurt feel sick.

“ _You’ve given this quite some thought_ ,” he said.

“ _Not really_.”

The lesson mercifully ended about fifteen minutes later, and Sebastian, who seemed satisfied with their talk for the day didn’t make another attempt of conversation. Thank goodness. As soon as the bell rang, Kurt went straight to his room with every intention to not come out again until it was dinner time. Meanwhile, he was going to do what every teacher thought him incapable of: Study.

* * *

As much as it made him feel anxious –– and not to mention a little bit sick to his stomach –– to walk through the same corridor in the afternoon and not the morning, Wes determined to not be put off by his own earlier low point (in which he actually blackmailed someone!). It with heavy steps that he approached Kurt’s room with the wish to talk about the fact that Kurt came into French smelling of cigarette smoke, or the fact that he skipped one of his classes today. When Wes knocked on his door he was met with a “Come in –– or stay where you are, it’s all the same to me!” he opened the door to find Kurt almost lying on his desk has close as he was to the paper on which he was rapidly writing on. But then the junior turned his head to see who entered his dorm and then straightened up a bit in his seat upon spotting Wes in the doorway.

“What do I owe the please?” Kurt asked softly and Wes couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

“I just wanted to talk to you a little about today,” Wes explained. “Mind if I come in.”

Kurt made a gesture towards his bed (which surprisingly enough was made) as if to tell Wes to sit down on it. When he did, Kurt turned in his chair so that he was leaning his chest towards its back and he looked at Wes, waiting for the other to start talking.

“You know that you’re not allowed to smoke on school grounds, Kurt,” Wes started and Kurt immediately rolled his eyes and groaned.

“As I’ve already told Sebastian today: I wasn’t actually on the ground.”

Wes gave him a puzzled look and after biting his lip, Kurt then nodded towards his window and suddenly Wes realised what he wasn’t saying.

“Kurt!” he exclaimed. “You can’t be on the _roof_ ; what if you get locked out or fall down?!”

“Well in the first scenario I will break in through my own window –– believe me, it wouldn’t be hard. As for the second,” he shrugged, “well then it will be my own damn fault for being reckless now wouldn’t it?”

“Still,” Wes pressed, “it is against the rules of Dalton, whether you’re on the roof, floor or football field.”

“Dalton has a football team?” Kurt asker quite cockily, but Wes didn’t rise at the bait and Kurt sighed. “How about I just eat some gum after taking a cig and we’ll pretend that this conversation never happened?” he suggested.

Wes kept his ground, though, and continued to eye Kurt critically before he finally said, “You need to deal with your addiction –– this can affect your entire life, Kurt.”

Much to his surprise, and likewise dismay, Kurt laughed at him in reply. “I am not addicted to cigarettes,” he then said. “Believe me; I have worked hard to not become. The only thing I _am_ addicted to in life is coffee, and last time I checked, they were still serving it in the Dining Hall.”

“If you are not addicted to smoking then why do you do it?” Wes demanded.

“Because I like to,” Kurt said with a shrug. “I like to smoke every now and then, mostly when I’m bored or when I’m having an intense study session. Bottom-line still remains: I’m not addicted.”

Wes realised that he would just have to accept that explanation for Kurt –– he would probably not get anything else out of the boy, and it would be a foolish mistake to press for more when Kurt actually did tell him something. But that just brought him onto his second reason. “Well at least that’s somewhat good to hear,” he said, “but I have another thing I would like to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” said Kurt in question, though Wes suspected that he already knew what Wes was about to say next.

“As strange as it may seem to you, I _do_ actually care about your well-being, Kurt. That includes your health, but also your education.”

Kurt rolled his eyes again and hunched down where he sat, resting his head on his arms that were resting on top of the chairs back.

“I do believe that you weren’t allowed to skip class at your previous school, but you will find that at Dalton, invalid absence is taking _very_ seriously.”

“Did someone ask you to come and say that to me or are you just pop by to tell me that by your own accord?” Kurt drawled.

“Like I said, I care about you, as impossible as it may seem to you, and even though the time is officially up, I still want to help you as a mentor.”

“So this _is_ about you being all smothering and showing every teacher and headmistress who could help you get into a good collage just how _great_ you are for taking on the difficult task of taming the rebel.”

“Oh, that’s it!” Wes snapped, standing up from his seat and not nearly gloating enough about Kurt’s surprised reaction as he perhaps ought to. “The world isn’t out to get you, Kurt, and the faster you realise it, the more will you actually be able to _enjoy_ life –– not just being so bitter and suspicious all the time! –– Yes, I blackmailed you into joining the Warblers, and I will be the first to admit that that was foul play from my side; but at the same time you have to admit, if even to yourself, that you actually like to be a part of a group –– the Warblers perhaps even specifically. And I know that you love to sing, Kurt. I know because I caught you singing _Don’t Cry for Me Argentina_ and that’s why I pushed you into joining the club. Because I thought that as much as you could offer something to the group, the group would give you something in return and you would make a friend or two. Shielding yourself off from everyone around you isn’t going to do you any good –– and I’m not asking you to come out and tell every secret –– I am asking to be your friend and have fun with you and be able to talk to you and help you. And for you to do the same thing to me when I will need it.” Finding that he had he was done, Wes sat down on the bed again, looking straight into Kurt’s wide, still a bit startled eyes; it felt like a weight that lifted, if only a little bit, from his shoulders after saying those things to Kurt.

After a moment of silence, Kurt cleared his throat a little and looked away and Wes realised that he must actually have gotten through to Kurt –– which was more than he had ever hoped for, really!

“There is one thing I’d like to talk to you about, though,” Kurt said after a while in a much softer voice than Wes thought he had ever heard from the other teen. “It’s about the Warblers,” he continued.

“Okay, what is it?” Wes asked encouragingly.

“Well, I do have suggestion about how we could spice up the team,” Kurt said, running a hand over his face before he finally decided to meet Wes’ eye again. “I think that we should do a small weekly assignment, as a group or individually, I don’t really know, and at least devote some time to putting together a small performance every week –– and perhaps also perform it for the school. The Warblers are almost like rock stars at Dalton anyway, which is far more than one could describe the glee club at my previous school; so I figured that we should take the opportunity.”

“But won’t that take time from preparing to Sectionals?” Wes asked and Kurt gave him an expression that screamed ‘bitch, _please_ ’ of all things possible.

“The entire practise is more or less spent arguing over songs that are almost the same, deciding if Blaine or Blaine or _perhaps_ Sebastian should sing it, if it should be kick-and-turn or turn-and-kick –– I think there’s room for a little fun, too.”

“I thought you liked Blaine,” Wes commented offhandedly and was rather surprised when he for a moment saw Kurt flush before the later sat up a little straighter and said seriously:

“I do, but this isn’t about how much I like him personally. This is about trying to win freaking Nationals and about having _fun_ –– and I don’t know what you think, but seeing that the Warblers haven’t even gotten all the way _to_ Nationals in over twenty years screams that something needs to change in the club.”

He did make a fair point, Wes thought to himself. “So how exactly do you propose that these assignments and weekly performances will work?”

“I think that they should feature songs and Warblers which we don’t normally do or put in the spotlight. It would be a way to express individuality and maybe to find hidden voices in the group. I mean you were at the same Warbler party as I was –– you _know_ then most if not all the guys can sing and that the group can improvised performances. And I think we are the best when everyone is having fun and just living in the moment really. Also, that that will be that little extra that will make us stand out in a competition,” Kurt finished.

“Why didn’t you say this the other day at practise?”

“Are you kidding me, Wes?” Kurt asked, sounding a bit condescending but Wes was just caught up in the fact that this was actually the first time he ever heard Kurt use his first name –– and his nickname on top of that. “If I propose _anything_ in practise, it would immediately be shut down. And that’s not because it wasn’t a good idea –– it’s not even because it’s me. It would be because as the Warblers work now, there is no room for new ideas because the system you have will kill them stone dead as soon as they start to live. So it’s _way_ better to that to you, who is the captain, and let you think about my proposal, then speak to the rest of the council about it and then finally the group. An idea of change will be much more likely to be treated with the fairness it deserves if it comes from the council –– which really can be described as a bunch of supposedly wise owls that leads the group –– then for the idea to come from one single songbird.”

“You’re quite poetic,” Wes chucked and Kurt laughed good-naturally at the comment. “But it’s definitely something worth thinking about, though. Thanks for sharing it with me, Kurt.” He smiled and felt very pleased when Kurt returned it with a small smile of his own. Then Kurt looked at his clock and sighed dramatically before standing up.

“Well there went the time I planned to study on before dinner,” he said but Wes could hear that his words lacked any real accusation or distress. Instead Kurt looked at him rather fondly. “To the Dining Hall, then?”

“Oh, yes,” Wes said also standing up. “But Kurt, you will promise me not to skip a class like that, okay?” he asked seriously but only got a small laugh in return.

“Sure,” Kurt said before adding: “Since I’ll probably have to pull an all-nighter because of our ‘heart to heart,’” he said while making quotation marks in the air, “I guess I can sleep in class instead.”

“Because it’s not like you usually do that,” Wes said sarcastically.

“I would never!”

* * *

In all honestly, Kurt was really happy to have shared his ideas on how to improve the Warblers with Wes. Although, he would still die before admitting it, he _did_ enjoy being a part of the club –– and while it did bug him that there was no chance of him getting the spotlight, he figured that it might just be as well. He still wanted for them to win, and he knew that the club had many strong voices within it, no matter how great Blaine, Sebastian and even Nick were. Going down to dinner with Wes, Kurt felt his own mood approving vastly now that he had gotten _that_ off his chest; and also because Wes had been great and listened to Kurt.

He settled down by a small table today with Wes, Nick, David and Blaine, and the conversation was as always light, but pleasant. Soon, however, Kurt noticed a shift in Nick’s attention, and he followed the other Warbler’s gaze which landed on parts of the Lacrosse team –– more specifically on Jeff –– who was just entering the Dining Hall after the afternoon practise. For what felt like five minutes, but probably was closer to a single moment, Nick’s focus was entirely on Jeff, Kurt saw. Then the other boy almost shook his head before returning to the conversation that was taking place around their table. The whole thing made Kurt think of how the two of them had lingered around each other the day after the Warbler party the previous weekend.

He continued to watch Jeff as the blond went and took some dinner with his friends, and sure enough, saw the way Jeff searched the room after something –– or some _one_ –– before he was interrupted by Sebastian who made him sit down next to him. Jeff seemed restless, though, and continued to look around the Hall for a minute or two before he _finally_ laid eyes on Nick. A small, longing smile spread across the boy’s face; it was short lived, though, because then Jeff noticed how Kurt, who was sitting next to Nick, was watching him. The smile was replaced by a slight blush and Jeff looked like a boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar as he quickly looked down at his food and started to pick in it.

It all became clear in that moment. Nick liked Jeff and Jeff liked Nick back –– but neither knew how the other felt.

Kurt felt like he had been punched in the stomach and for a moment he wondered if he was actually going to throw up. The mixed feelings of jealousy, dread, and surprisingly also a glimmer of what only could be described as hope, all rumbled around inside of him. How his body was able to contain it all, he did not know, and he hoped for goodness sake that his inner turmoil didn’t show on his face. As if all that wasn’t enough, Kurt also felt incredibly silly for his inner storm of emotion. This was just two people, two friends maybe even, who he just realised fancied each other, and that should be all there was to it.

But it wasn’t. It was a shitload of so much more. Never in his life had Kurt actually _seen_ a healthy gay couple –– hell, even seen a gay couple at all –– with his own eyes. Neil Patrick and his guy could be all as iconic as they were, but to Kurt they were just two faces on a screen their relationship would never have any actual impact on his life. Happy gay couples were for the chosen; the selective few that were lucky enough to be born into a situation where they were capable to pursue their dreams and sooner or later be open. Kurt, even at Dalton –– _‘the Gay Hogwarts’_ –– would never be able to come out of his closet. He was so freaking aware of it; but even so, seeing how Nick glanced up at Jeff when he thought that no one was looking only for Jeff to do the exact same thing five minutes later stirred feelings to life that Kurt would rather avoid.

And memories that he didn’t want to face.

Just then, Kurt then noticed that Sebastian throwing a questioning look at his friend before he looked up himself and caught Kurt’s gaze almost immediately. Not knowing what to do, Kurt gave him a raised eyebrow in hope that Sebastian couldn’t read his mind (or his face) to see just what Kurt was thinking. But Sebastian just moved his gaze over to Nick, then Kurt, Jeff and up to Kurt again, before he pressed his lips a little bit tighter together and returned to his food as well. Perhaps he ought to follow Sebastian’s example, Kurt thought dully before stabbing a potato in his plate with brutal force. The potato had it coming.

* * *

The days that followed, all the way to the weekend, were perhaps the best and the worst days Kurt had yet to live through at Dalton.

Classes had been a real pain in the arse because of the utter boredom they more often than not made Kurt experience, but he didn’t skip again even though he actually hadn’t promised Wes not to. Still, the workload was soul crushing and Kurt knew that he would take things home during the weekend to work on so that he wouldn’t fall behind. Both Wes and Blaine had been great friends to have by his side, though. Wes with all tips and notes form his entire high school career that he actually had saved on a fucking hard drive –– and also his bubbly enthusiasm about the Warblers and the changes he was planning to make. Whenever they ended up alone, Wes would tell him about what he was planning and assured Kurt that he would persuade to the council first thing Monday morning. As for Blaine, Kurt could only say that he enjoyed the other boy’s company and he always felt a certain flutter in his stomach whenever Blaine smiled at him. Kurt always ignored the feeling, subconsciously knowing what it meant, but making sure to never think about more than in passing before he pushed the thoughts and ideas aside. He wouldn’t –– _couldn’t_ –– think about things like that; even though Blaine _was_ gay (as he told Kurt off handily once when they were walking to lunch and Kurt had to watch his steps because he was about to walk into parts of Dalton’s interior design when he heard it).

Then there was Nick and Jeff who were dancing seemingly _very_ practised waltz around each other that once seen could not be ignored, no matter how much Kurt tried. It was slowly driving him insane in all honesty, and he felt jealous, frustrated and rather intimidated whenever he saw one of them look longingly at the other. Just watching the two of them made him want to shout into a pillow or something and it was close to impossible to _not_ think about them, or the things that that train of thought would lead to.

He couldn’t vent his frustration to anyone either. His dad was out of the question, Blaine would probably take it as a personal offense if Kurt said that he was disturbed by two gay people liking each other, and Wes would most likely ask questions Kurt really didn’t want to answer. By the time he got home he was as moody as the autumn weathear outside; at one moment he felt almost giddy in delight when he got a text from Blaine, the next he felt like someone who’d just had a bucket of ice-cold water poured over them. As a result, he kept trying to ignore everything that was haunting his mind and bury himself in school work; basically studying a month ahead in Calculus because it kept his train of thought occupied.

Burt noticed. Of course Burt noticed, Kurt would think to himself later, rolling his eyes –– the fact that Kurt had a massive bake-off late Saturday night was a dead giveaway.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Burt asked Sunday morning when Kurt came up for breakfast.

Kurt knew _exactly_ what his father was referring to –– there were even Japanese melon pans lying neatly in a basket after last night’s escapades. Yet, Kurt replied, “Talk about what?” in a tone that would have convinced more or less anyone that he was actually oblivious to what; and then he continued to treat himself with a melon pan. He doubted that the irony in his actions went past Burt, who knew him far too well for his liking.

“I’m talking about the fact that when I went to the bathroom at 2 AM last night I saw that the light was still turned on in the kitchen and the whole house smelled like a bakery,” Burt said casually; far too used to Kurt’s dismissive manner.

“Really?” Kurt replied as he sat down with pan and coffee. “You better have a talk with Mrs. Adler next door, Dad, because she can’t keep breaking into our house when she feels like it.”

“Very funny, Kurt.”

Kurt flashed his dad a smirk that he dully thought that Sebastian would claim to be a violation of the copyright law, but said nothing. A few minutes went past and Kurt had almost finished his coffee when Burt seemed to have gathered up enough wit for another go.

“Seriously, Kurt, don’t think I haven’t noticed that you seem to be completely thrown off,” he said. Kurt was about to retort when he added, “I haven’t seen you this upset about something since that week at the end of last school year.”

He knew that Burt was just trying to help, but he could have punched Kurt in the face and it would have felt less painful than the utter _dread_ that ran through Kurt in that moment. Abruptly, Kurt stood up, almost making his chair tip backwards and fall to the floor, but he couldn’t have cared less if the old piece of wood would hit the cold, hard kitchen floor or not. “No,” he said, giving Burt a quick glance before he looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

With that said, Kurt all but ran down to his room, trying not to slam his door shut but doing it anyway, and then his eyes darted around the room, unsure what to do with himself. He had tried _so hard_ to avoid thinking about the end of last year –– what had happened and what the consequences had been. By the end of the summer, Kurt had thought that he had gotten over it and managed to shut the questions and feelings running around in his head out –– only to now have it all thrown back into his face. So not done with this, apparently.

Carefully, he slowly made his way towards the bed and sat down at its foot, letting his right hand run through the hair he spent about twenty minutes styling this morning. Whatever, he only obsessed about it because he had already cleaned each and every one of his piercings yesterday and he hadn’t been ready to face the day yet. It was all rather pointless right now. He was thinking about Nick and Jeff again and their waltz, which Kurt was far too familiar with. He could finally admit to himself that the reason he felt so insanely jealous of them was because he sure that their dance would end with a neat bow and a smile full of promise. Much unlike how his own waltz had turned out. But he wasn’t ready to admit how much he ached for that dance to have taken a different turn for the worse. It was for the best he tried to tell himself, and then tried to not think about it.

So he thought about Blaine. Blaine who was sweet and kind and with a smile like sunshine –– great God it was almost offending how endearing that boy could be. And Kurt knew that he was letting himself get swept away by Blaine’s smile; however he also knew that he could never let his feelings overthrow him like they had before. It had been a mistake because he hadn’t been careful enough. He wouldn’t put himself in that position ever again. And perhaps that was why he let Blaine’s easy going charm get to him: Blaine was so unlike the pestering jocks that Kurt found himself drawn to even though he tried to stay away.

His therapeutic musings didn’t get further than that as there was a knock on his door followed by Burt calling his name through the wood.

“Yeah?” Kurt answered and sat up straight, running a hand through his hair to try to fix the mess he had made –– all in vain of course.

“Can I come down?” Burt asked, carefully opening the door a little but not stepping inside.

“I doubt that there’s much I can say that will stop you.”

The comment was followed by Burt’s heavy steps and soon his dad dipped down on the bed next to him.

“So what happened up there?” he asked but Kurt just made a noncommittal sound and shrugged. “Is it something to do with what I said about last year?” Burt continued and Kurt must have tensed up because his dad obviously picked something up. “Why don’t you tell me what happened last year, then? Or this week, either is fine –– both would be great, but I’m not too demanding,” he finished up in what probably was meant to sound light but turned out more like tired mumble.

“Nothing happened,” Kurt said.

“You don’t get upset over ‘nothing,’ Kurt,” Burt pointed out. “Only big things make you get this way.”

He scoffed at the (admittedly accurate) accusation. “No, nothing really happened this week –– I just realised something.”

“And that something has something to do with last year, yeah?”

Warily, Kurt snuck a glance at Burt to find the older man looking tired and tenderly at him. More than anything, Kurt feared that the tenderness would disappear from Burt’s eyes when he looked at him and instead be replaced by hatred and disgust. The thought made his stomach turn.

“Yes, it does,” he admitted quietly.

“And you don’t want to tell me what happened back then.” It was a statement, not a question.

“No.” He paused. “Nothing will change if I do,” he then added.

“But it might help you to get over it.”

“There’s nothing to _get over_ , Dad,” he snapped, voice close to trembling as he looked down on the floor.

“All I’m trying to say, bud, is that it won’t do you any good to go and silently lament over the past when the present is happening all around you.”

“Oh, my God!” Kurt exclaimed and sat up straight again, glaring at his father. “You _did not_ just make this about mum!”

“Look, Kurt, you can’t close up like this every time something bad happens,” Burt tried, but Kurt wouldn’t have it.

“You _did_ make this about her,” he said in a much quieter, low voice than before and suddenly he was on his feet, the need to put some distance between himself and his dad. Why had he sounded so disbelieving when he should have seen that one coming?

“Yes, but only because that’s when you started to not talk about things, Kurt!”

“This has absolutely _nothing_ to do with the fact that she died, Dad, and you’re even worse than that lousy therapist you made me see last year for trying to tell me so!”

“Then what the hell do you want me to do, huh? You walk around pushing away everything and everyone –– including me –– and you pull up this _façade_ that isn’t you and try to be more butch than you are!” Burt had stood up too by now, and although he was shorter he was far more intimidating than Kurt would ever like him to be; his eyes filled with anger.

“Just because I’m not what you wanted me to be doesn’t mean that it’s automatically wrong!” Kurt shouted, finally hitting the breaking point where he couldn’t stand this conversation any longer. Burt was saying something but he didn’t listen, instead he grabbed his sketch pad and pencil case before turned on the light in his walking-in closet and locking himself inside of it. Again, the irony of it all was almost sickening.

Burt tried to talk to him, first shouting and then speaking more softly, but Kurt ignored each and every word as he started to draw the outline of a man on a new paper. He continued to draw clothes which he then coloured and started to work with the shades and shadows long after he heard heavy steps walk upstairs again, and if a line was out of place or the design became a little smudged than it was not because he was crying and couldn’t see through his tears. Definitely not.

* * *

**A/N:**[The recipe](http://wednesdaythunder.tumblr.com/post/62636161206/keru-hime-authentic-japanese-melon-pan-recipe) to those melon pans Kurt made for anyone who actually cares.


	9. Breaking Point

After his _fantastic_ weekend, Kurt made it back to Dalton on the late hours of Sunday evening. He didn’t actually know where he’s rather be: home was also home to his father who he very much liked to avoid, but Dalton was home to all his questions and problems. And also to more gay guys that Lima’s entire population it almost seemed.

When Monday came along Kurt was in a real grumpy mood from the start and he just _knew_ that nothing that today would have to offer would bring him out of it. Wes knocked on his door as usual, and, as usual, they went down to breakfast together with Wes talking excitedly about how he had called for a council lunch meeting in which he would discuss Kurt’s anonymous proposal. Once they reached the Dining Hall however, Kurt immediately spotted Nick and Jeff sitting next to each other, Jeff almost asleep and Nick looking endearingly at him between bites. This was not something that Kurt wanted to see first thing in the morning, especially since Nick wasn’t even hiding his stare anymore.

“You know what?” Kurt said to Wes when they were still out of earshot. “I’m just gonna have a quick coffee and then be off; I just realised that I had forgotten to do some homework for Calculus and it’s my first class so I need it done before then.”

Wes gave him an understanding look and made a sound. “That can’t be fun. Do you need help or something because you could probably ask one of the older Warblers who took the same class last year to help you?”

Kurt shook his head. “Thanks but no; it’s not that it’s hard to do, it’s that I need to _do it_.”

Wes nodded but Kurt was already turning to the coffee machine, pleased that his lie that worked so well. He almost wolfed down the coffee, making sure to add some extra milk so he wouldn’t burn his tongue on the hot liquid; he must have looked appalling while doing it but that was fine with Kurt. He got a few funny looks from people around him, one in particular from a blond guy in his Calculus class. Kurt smirked at him because he knew that blondy was struggling to keep up with Mr. Mendelson’s class and was probably very jealous of Kurt who literally slept through it all.

With quick steps, Kurt then made his way to his dorm where he sat on his bed and stared out the window for exactly two and a half minutes before deciding that he’d rather just go to Calculus and sleep. He arrived about twenty minutes too early and there was nobody in the classroom, but being the school that Dalton was, the door was still unlocked and Kurt easily slipped in and sat down. It was a hard task to fall asleep, however, even though he had hardly slept the night before. By the time that his classmates started to pour in and Mr. M entered, Kurt was in some kind of restless slumber where he was still vaguely aware of what was going on around him.

* * *

As the day continued, it was surprisingly easy to bullshit his way through classes and around people. Blaine didn’t notice how he was quieter than usual, instead Kurt only received the usual lecture that falling asleep during class, or as he did today, doodle in his text book, wasn’t proper manners. Kurt, of course, ignored Blaine and his comments, instead focusing on trying to make this particular elm-tree as realistic as possible.

When lunch came along, Kurt realised that he would probably have to face his horrors and sit with Jeff and Nick and possibly also Sebastian (definitely a horror on its own) since he was walking to the Dining Hall in the company of Blaine; unfortunately, Wes wouldn’t be there to keep his mind of things either since he was a Warbler conference. That or run away again. But Blaine didn’t suspect that anything was off –– _yet_ at least –– and Kurt wanted to keep it that way. Therefore, Kurt sat down with his food that he hadn’t really paid attention to, and ate in silence, trying very hard to block out what was going on around him. Something must have happened during the weekend because if felt like both Nick and Jeff had stepped up their game –– or maybe it was just Kurt’s mind playing tricks on him. Everyone else around the table –– Blaine, Sebastian and Johathan that was –– didn’t seem to take notice of them. They just went on as normal; Sebastian being an annoying arse who smirked to such an extent that Kurt was pretty sure that even his food was offended by it; Blaine discussing some song choices with Johathan; while Nick and Jeff were seriously googoo-eyeing each other. In the end, Kurt should perhaps be very thankful that he didn’t choke on his fork because he accidently ate it along with his potatoes.

The rest of the day dragged on, long and tiresome and not to mention absolutely _boring_. French was awful with Smythe trying to get him to talk, whilst Wes was a bouncing ball of happiness, and Nick was world away. Kurt could only conclude that Wes’ meeting had done well; that something must have happened between Nick and Jeff this weekend; and, also, that Sebastian was an annoying arse, though the last conclusion wasn’t exactly news.

Then there was Warbler practise. Wes was excited and restless as he walked back and forth in the choir room, waiting for everyone to assemble; it was really getting on Kurt’s nerves. Kurt wasn’t even the only one who seemed irritated by him, the other two members of the council glared at him every now and then, and almost every Warbler that had already arrived shot him odd looks.

“What’s up with Wes?” Blaine asked quietly as he sat down next to Kurt, leaning up to Kurt’s ear and –– oh God, he could feel Blaine’s breath on his skin as well as Kurt’s heart skipping a beat.

“Don’t know,” he lied, trying not to sound nervous because of the sudden closeness.

“I guess we’ll find out sooner or later, though,” was Blaine’s answer and Kurt only nodded.

After about five minutes, Wes asked if anyone still hadn’t arrived to which he was met with a, “no, everyone’s here,” and then he just started to talk.

“I would like to start off this practise by presenting a suggestion that the council has put together in hopes of improving the Warblers shape and performances, as well as try to take the choir a step further into renewing ourselves, while having fun doing so.”

That was a very eloquent start of a proposal, Kurt thought to himself –– he was willing to bet that Wes had been practising. He didn’t listen much more to what Wes was actually saying, though, mostly because he already knew all about it because Wes hadn’t been able to shut up since Kurt told him about the idea. Instead, Kurt waited until Wes was done to see what the group’s reaction would be.

Wes had taken his place behind the council’s table, and now asked loud and clear for opinions.

After a moment of silence, Trent spoke up. “I do agree that it sounds like fun and could be a great way for development,” he started off and oh, that was good. “But,” he then continued and oh, the ‘but,’ “wouldn’t this take away focus from Regionals?”

“We have three Warbler practises a week, and if we stay focused during that time I believe that we can accomplish anything,” Wes replied. “These weekly performances are to be as impromptu as possible; we’ll decide a song and a lead or two, and maybe some basic choreography –– the rest is for every single Warbler to improvise and _together_ build up a performance. One has to know his key and create an a cappella melody to go with whatever song combined with all the other performers who share his vocal range, and together as a group we all need to come together, move together. I, personally, think that this will be a great practise to improve our skills while still giving each and every Warbler a chance to take the lead and maybe do something that we usually don’t –– while still being safe inside the walls of Dalton.”

Well spoken, Kurt thought.

“So saying that we do this, what would actually happen?” Blaine asked.

“As I said earlier, we can either choose a song and then pick a lead or two, or a Warbler is chosen and he will name a song that we then do. The important thing is that we should be able to put together a whole performance within an hour.”

“Isn’t that a bit too much to ask from Warblers who’ve never taken solos before?” Blaine continued.

“We don’t think so,” Wes replied, looking to the other council members who both nodded in agreement to him. “The point is to have fun and explore talents and improve ourselves; no will be forced to take a lead if he doesn’t want to –– but every single one who wants to _will_ be able to. Or that is the idea.”

A murmur or whispered comments and conversations filled the room after Wes finished and Blaine himself turned to Kurt and asked quietly, “What do you think?”

“I think it’s a good idea,” was the answer and Kurt couldn’t have been more modest seeing that it was _his_ idea and no one else’s. “What about you?”

“I don’t know,” Blaine said. “I’m still uncertain about everyone who hasn’t been in the spotlight before.”

“But how is one to learn if one never tries, though? And isn’t this a good way to get experience, hm?”

Blaine was about to answer when Wes slammed his gavel, calling for order.

“So, shall we have vote then?” he asked and Warblers nodded in agreement. “All those in favour, please raise your hand.”

Kurt hesitated for a moment, observing everyone else’s reaction. Both Nick and Jeff raised their hands immediately, as well as the whole council and even and Trent and Sebastian did, too. After that Kurt raised his own and then noticed how Blaine did the same beside him. To Kurt’s utter joy, he saw that the people who were positive to the proposal were the majority. Hell, almost every Warbler had his hand up.

“Then it’s decided,” Wes said. “We will have weekly performances.” He slammed the gavel down to mark the decision. Seemed like today would end better than it started after all.

After that, Wes launched them into a discussion about what they were going to do today. “After all,” he said, “it’s Monday and we have over an hour until practise ends. I see no reason we shouldn’t put this idea into practise already, don’t you agree?”

What followed was close to utter disorder. Every Warbler was on his feet, trying to brainstorm ideas, but in reality it was like a Polish Parliament inside the Warbler’s choir room. Wes steered it up after a while though, not shouting, but close to, and a quick vote was held in which they decided who was going to lead this week’s impromptu performance. Kurt shouldn’t have been surprised that Blaine was nominated, nor that he won, it fitted as the kick off to their new tradition and as the soloist, Blaine got to choose song. He picked _Teenage Dream_ by Katy Perry of all things.

Sheets to the song seemed to emerge out of nowhere and Kurt suddenly found himself in the back of the room with a sheet in his hand, watching things come together in front of him. Wes was organising them, he and Blaine having an intense discussion over melodies and choreography with a few other Warbler’s butting in to share their opinion.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this choir in such a mess,” Sebastian said beside him quietly, like he was talking more to himself than Kurt.

“Maybe it was about time.” Kurt felt Sebastian’s eyes on him just then, probably because he hadn’t actually responded to anything Sebastian had said in his presence all day, but Kurt made the choice to not look back. It would only serve to spur an already flaming fire. Instead Kurt glanced over the room once more, from where all the obnoxious shouting in the middle of the room, to corner to corner. He spotted Nick and Jeff sitting too-close-to-be-only-friends-with-each-other on one couch by themselves, huddled together pretending to go through the song together, but really they were cuddling. It was not something that Kurt wished to see and without meaning to he gasped a little at the sight of them. He couldn’t understand how they could be so _open_ about it all.

Unfortunately, his gasp did not go unheard and Sebastian asked, “What?” beside him much to Kurt’s horror. Before he could come up with a decent lie –– or even look away from the two boys, Sebastian had followed gaze.

“Oh, that,” Sebastian said like it was nothing. “The two of them _finally_ confessed to each other this weekend.”

“Oh,” was all that managed to come out of Kurt’s mouth. He guess it wasn’t that odd, seeing that the affection they held was so obviously mutual, but at the same time he didn’t understand how they could be so blatantly open about it.

He couldn’t figure out if it was because Sebastian had mind-reading powers, actually –– God forbid –– had Kurt figured out, or if he just enjoyed his voice far too much, but Sebastian kept on talking. “There will always be arse-holes at Dalton, too, zero tolerance be damned, but at least no one in the Warbler’s gives a damn about gay or straight.”

Kurt did look at Sebastian then and the smirky meerkat had the gut to _wink_ at him, and then walk away. Wes was calling everyone to stand in formation so they could go over the song once all together before they invaded the corridors of Dalton.

Together, they ran through the open doors of the choir room after Blaine threw them open; in sync they moved step after step down the corridor, everyone singing and still making up new melodies to fit with the tune; Johathan beatboxing an awesome rhythm beside Kurt even though he had been told not to by someone, which made it all the better, really. Students peeked out of their club rooms to see what was going on and soon cheered the Warblers dancing past the door, some tagging along the singing train that had no certain destination. In the end, Blaine found an empty common room which they all invaded, lining up on the open floor like they were on a stage and students flocked in the wide door opening and in the corners of the room cheering as they delivered the last part of the song; dancing together before totally breaking formation and jumping around a little, only to fall back as one again during the last two lines of the song.

Once the last note ended, their little audience started to applaud, and it was clear that this had been a success. The Warblers cheered themselves, many high-fiving each other, others hugging, though no one as long or intimately as Nick and Jeff. Kurt was interrupted from feeling confused and jealous over them however by Wes throwing himself onto Kurt’s person and pulling his arms around him.

“I can’t believe it actually worked!” he exclaimed and pulled back, the usually so serious face now one that held maybe the largest smile in the room.

“Told you,” Kurt replied with a small smile of his own. Yes, this day turned out to be great.

* * *

Despite Monday’s admittedly great end, Tuesday was hell.

It wasn’t so much because the lessons or students had changed –– they were all the same all the normal amount of boring. But it was the stuff in between, added to the boring lessons and boring teachers and boring, prejudice, snobby, rat-arsed fellow classmates was what set Kurt off. Seeing Nick and Jeff walk into the Dining Hall together for lunch hand in hand was like being stabbed, and what was even worse was that the people around him had decided to notice them as well. For every catcall friends threw their way, every nudge and question of “oh, when did this happen?” and “so you finally got your act together?” was a twist of the blade that was piercing through him. One would think that lessons would be a salvation to get away from it all, but Kurt couldn’t relax, couldn’t even blink and the teachers’ boring voices and annoying questions were driving him up the wall.

By Thursday, Kurt had asked himself oh so many times what the point to it all was, and always came up with absolutely nothing. Deep down he knew that he wanted what Nick and Jeff had –– but even the confidence to voice that he wanted such things seemed too hard, too much, too exposing. It seemed so fucking impossible to him that such a thing as a public, gay relationship would actually _exist_ within the sphere known as his reality. Even though he was basically surrounded by gay boys in this school it still didn’t fit, didn’t belong, _didn’t seem real to him._

“What put you into such deep thought?” came like an opening line from Blaine as he interrupted Kurt’s questioning of reality. Blaine had found Kurt in his temporary refuge in the library because a) he could avoid to see ‘Niff’ as they were now called (oh God they had a _shipping name_!), and because b) the four walls of his dorm were suffocating him and he needed to study.

“Oh, you know, _homework_ ,” Kurt said nonchalantly and tried to smile. If he failed than Blaine didn’t say.

“Mind if I join you? Honestly, I need to study myself, and I was kinda hoping that I’d see someone so I wouldn’t have to be alone.”

“Take a seat.”

For a while they studied in peace and admittedly, Kurt enjoyed the silence between them which was only broken when one of them (Blaine) wanted to reassure himself that he was on the right track; they always fell back into comfortable silence soon after, however. It would probably have stayed like that until they both decided that it was time to go to bed as well, or until one of them had run out of brain-capacity, too, if Kurt’s questions weren’t continuously nagging in the back of his mind. Could Jeff and Nick be so open and _public_ with their relation without any consequences, spare their friends shouting “Finally!” to them, like Sebastian had said? And what would their parents say if they found out –– what if they _knew_ already?

Beside him sat Blaine, who was adorable, and, as far as Kurt knew, out and public about his sexuality –– it was only natural for Kurt to wonder _how_ that happened, when Blaine could easily pass off as a straight guy if he wanted to.

Biting the bullet Kurt said, “Blaine?” softly before he could really talk himself out of it.

“Yeah?” Blaine looked up, probably expecting to be asked if he could help with homework, seeing that he was trying to get a peek at Kurt’s papers, but for once Kurt didn’t cave into the fear and the easy way out to avoid what he actually needed to ask.

“I was just thinking,” he said, “it’s kind of interesting, you know, Nick and Jeff.”

“What about them?” asked Blaine and Kurt’s stomach twisted in dread because _fuck_. But nevertheless, he fought on.

“It’s just that at my previous school, kids would be bullied so badly for _coming out_ , nevermind walking the corridors hand in hand with another boy.”

Blaine’s expression changed from something innocent and wondering to serious; it felt like he could see right through Kurt and the thought was terrifying.

“Couldn’t have been a pleasant school you went to,” he said, his voice sounded okay and like he didn’t know what Kurt was thinking.

“Ye–––– yeah, I guess it wasn’t.” Kurt stumbled over his words staring down at his homework. “Still nice to know that Dalton’s different if –– just in case! Yeah.”

“Kurt.”

Hearing his name being spoken to him so gently, like he was fragile or an animal that you didn’t want to scare away, sent him into a panic. He’d said too much, he had pushed his boundaries too far –– oh God, Blaine _knew!_ He needed to get away as fast as possible before it got even worse. _Fuck_ , he did not just let this happen!

Blaine continued to talk in a cautious voice but Kurt didn’t hear him, instead he quickly said, “You know I’m actually _really_ tried –– and hey, there’s school all day tomorrow, too –– so I think I’m actually gonna call  it a day.” He gathered his things faster than ever, fumbling with his books and noted and shoving them into his bad without the usual care but he needed to get away _now_.

“Kurt, wait ––”

“Thanks for keeping me company, Blaine, and good luck with your essay,” Kurt said and then he was out of there.

_Fuck._

* * *

As Thursday became yesterday, Kurt was afraid to even leave his bed.

What if Blaine really had seen through him –– what if he had _told_ someone?!

That and so many more questions had kept him up all night, and he was so far out of his comfort zone,  and didn’t know what to do –– it made him nauseous to just think about it, yet it seemed to be the only thing he could think about. It was amazing that he hadn’t thrown up already.

When Wes came in his usual manner Kurt was far from decent and shouted rather irritably at the older Warbler to fuck off to breakfast without him. It was wrong to lash out at Wes like that, Kurt was well aware, but just like with his own father the aggressiveness that aimed to hit where it hurt came like second nature. Kurt was scared, and, like always, when scared he shielded himself and tried to distract everyone from all that he was trying to hide.

Without anyone dragging him to breakfast, Kurt didn’t see a point going down and have some at all, coffee be damned. He was well aware that he was being a coward (but then again it was his cowardly manner that decided most of his important decisions, anyway), but even with that in mind Kurt flung himself at his bed, staring up in at the ceiling. Yeah, he was going to skip classes today, and get into trouble, and Wes was going to get mad at him. What a life.

* * *

Clever as he were he climbed out on the roof when Wes came pounding on his door after second period. Kurt even went as far to climb up on the roof of the top floor, i.e. the roof of his own dorm, just in case Wes barge into his dorm and find him right outside the window. Wes did no such thing however, but instead left after a while because the third period was starting.

Kurt made the daring move to leave his dorm after that, thinking that he wouldn’t stumble into Wes for a while and it would therefore be safe to leave. But mostly because being closed off and hidden away in a dorm was not something Kurt actually enjoyed –– in fact he hated not to being able to walk wherever he wanted because he felt so freaking trapped and helpless. Kurt would do anything to get himself free of the feeling of helplessness if he had the opportunity to (and sometimes even when he didn’t). With all that said (in his head), Kurt started to climb down Dalton’s façade. Although rather dangerous, it was a ridiculously easy way to get in and out of Dalton, and being Kurt, he had mastered the Dalton façade after his first two weeks there. He came down to the soft, super-green grass of Dalton’s little mini-park that surrounded the school, though Kurt was still on the look-out for any gardeners that might spot him –– thankfully there were none around.

He walked around outside for a while, exploring the grounds that he had yet to see. Dalton had many hiding places he found, not only in the school –– which really felt like modern day all-American Hogwarts, despite the fact that the whole place was mapped –– but in the gardens as well. Dalton had not only a lacrosse field, but also an indoor swimming pool which shared the same annex as the gym and all the locker rooms to all the sports. Funniest of all, thought Kurt, was the hall where they had fencing. Kurt had a respect for sharp, pointy things and also fencing looked rather silly when these boys did it; that was mainly the only reasons why he had left the fencing team alone. The lacrosse team had been his major target of the sport clubs.

Kurt lost track of time as he walked around, and the only time he really wondered if it was lunch or not was when his stomach started to protest. He hadn’t eaten anything the whole day, which was _always_ a bad thing, but especially when he hadn’t had coffee either. Still, Kurt didn’t really think that he would just go into the Dining Hall and take some lunch and then head out again –– the probability was high that someone would notice him and ask why he hadn’t been to any of his classes today (may it be a teacher, a Warbler, or Wes –– because yes, Wes got his own category) and he would try to avoid that. Unfortunately the kitchen of the dorms wing wasn’t well stocked right now, like _at all_ , since only Kurt used it more or less and he knew because he knew that there was only flour, honey and yogurt there right now. Not the good, eatable kind of yogurt either. So, instead, Kurt fell back old his old ways of McKinley –– he felt a little nostalgic about it actually –– and took a cigarette from the close to new package he was carrying around. Normally he didn’t leave his dorm with smokes and lighter in case someone would bust him for it, but since he had been out on the roof he had grabbed it without much thought and shoved it down in the inner pocket of his blazer; it was like second nature.

Sometimes he wouldn’t eat lunch for weeks during his years at McKinley, and sometimes he wouldn’t have had the chance to eat breakfast at home before he went off either for various reasons (mostly just like now because he was avoiding people). Still, it had been some time in between then and now and Kurt’s body wasn’t used to being denied food right now. Even at McKinley he would often leave school grounds and swing by the Lima Bean to buy some coffee for himself just so he didn’t go crazy, and sometimes also a cheesecake if he felt brave. There was no Lima Bean anywhere near here, though. Dalton _did_ have a café of its own –– however, the coffee was not much different from the one served in the Dining Hall so Kurt usually didn’t bother. Today he didn’t want to be caught, so his addiction would have to take a day off.

He really wasn’t paying too much attention to where he walked, and that was bad. Suddenly someone was knocking hard against a window, making Kurt jump and he turned to see that he was walking outside one of the busiest hallways of Dalton, which was currently full of people going to wherever, and none other than Mademoiselle Dufour was hammering her neat little fist against the glass. Kurt couldn’t hear what she was saying but her mouth was moving and she was glaring at him, her gestures saying ‘stay put!’ and when she thought Kurt had understood her she immediately turned around, presumably to walk out and fetch him. Oh well, now he was busted, and for smoking of all things. But Kurt reckoned that smoking was far better than any of the other things he had pulled; as for his secret stash of cigarette packages he was almost out anyway, and they were hidden neatly under his wardrobe where no one would look just in case.

A crowd had gathered inside, looking at him through the window, thanks to Dufour he reckoned. He raised an eyebrow at them before turning around and leaning against the wall of the school. Dufour would arrive momentarily; he was found smoking so he might as well finish his cigarette while he still had the chance, he figured. Someone else was knocking at the window now and Kurt glanced up to see Wes looking livid behind the glass. Well, of course, who else? He shrugged at Wes before turning away, ignoring him, and after trying to get his attention again with more knocking Wes stopped and Kurt assumed that he left. Probably as well since Wes had classes just like everyone else and Kurt wasn’t his problem anyway.

Then came the Mademoiselle in her not-so-high heel shoes that still were so not made for walking on grass.

“ _Just what do you think you’re doing?!_ ” she shouted at him and oh Lord, it was in French, she must be really mad.

“Smoking,” he said cockily which only served to spur on her anger.

“Which is _forbidden_ on school grounds, ‘Ummel!” she said like he didn’t know it already.

“No?!” he gasped in mock-surprise despite himself. Dufour was more easily irritated than a flock of wasps which was definitely amusing.

She didn’t seem to agree with him however, and snapped, “Come ‘ere!” and held out a hand, taking him by his blazer’s collar and started to drag him back inside. “And drop zhat, vill you?!” She looked at his almost finished smoke and Kurt looked back at her, looking as innocent as he possibly could.

“But I can’t drop it down on the grass –– what if it lights it on fire?”

Oh, she was furious at him and just made a _noise_ , much to Kurt’s amusement. Once inside she lead him to the nearest bathroom where she barged in, scaring the shit out two boys who were there going about their business, but Dufour didn’t even seem to notice them.

“Flush it down zhe toilet zhen!” she demanded and pointed at an empty stall and Kurt gave her a cocky look before doing as told without a word. Then they were off to what Kurt assumed was the headmistress’ office, leaving two very quiet boys behind them who still had their pants down.

Students looked as he and Dufour passed through the corridors, their not too subtle whispered conversations and straight-out _pointing_ secretly getting on Kurt’s nerves, though he would never let it show. When they passed each doorway he had quite a few eyes on him. He spotted Nick when they were getting close to the office, and seeing Nick’s shocked and concerned face for a second made Kurt, for the first time, actually feel bad about being caught like he previously hadn’t allowed himself to. He had skipped class for almost a whole day and been caught smoking by the teacher who hated him the most. The chance that he was going to get expelled was great, much greater than he thought it would be when he didn’t go down to breakfast this morning.

Then again, he hadn’t thought much at all had he? Kurt was tired –– _mentally_ tired –– and he was frustrated and scared and sad and fucking angry that he had let himself cave to feelings and thoughts that had lead him to this. It was really not anyone’s fault but his own for letting his mind race, overthinking things and speaking of things that were to be unspoken.

He didn’t want to get expelled, though. Not really. Even though he did despise a vast majority of the people at Dalton, those he _didn’t_ were in a greater quantity than ever before in his life. He liked the challenges that the school offered, liked the surroundings, liked some teachers even. And most of all he liked how happy it made his father that he was enrolled here. That was worth more than anything else life had offered Kurt and he did not want to lose it and disappoint his dad.

That said, he was still in a very sticky situation that he would not make his way out of easily.

When they arrived Mademoiselle Dufour talked quickly with Mrs. Gardner’s secretary, explaining that she had caught Kurt smoking on school grounds, and they were let through into the office only moments later. The headmistress looked disappointed for a second as she laid her eyes on Kurt before she schooled her expression into something more serious and professional.

“Good afternoon, Miss. Dufour, Mr. Hummel,” she greeted them in an even voice. “Please take a seat, Mr. Hummel.”

It felt odd being in her office again –– not that he hadn’t thought that he wouldn’t end up here again sooner or later at his last visit.

“Now what can I do for you?” Mrs. Gardner asked and Dufour opened her mouth, barely getting two syllables out of her mouth before the door opened behind them and both she and Kurt looked to see who it was and why.

It was Mr. Mendelson of all people, followed by Wes. Kurt was confused by the sudden arrival, but as was Dufour and Gardner when he turned to look at the two women.

“Er, Montgomery sought me out and told that Hummel was in some kind of trouble so I came right away?” Mr. Mendelson explained rather sheepishly after Wes had closed the door behind them.

“Well, now that we’re all gathered then please do tell why we’re here at all,” Mrs. Gardner said, turning to Dufour once more and surprisingly enough not telling Wes to leave Kurt noticed.

“I caught ‘Ummel smoking on school grounds just moments ago and I also recall ‘earing during lunch zhat ‘e ‘adn’t shown up for a single class all day,” Dufour said, not sounding smug like coach Sylvester would have but instead like she was personally offended by Kurt’s actions. But looking back he had actually managed to offend her on their journey here.

“Is that true?” Mrs. Gardner asked Kurt and what the hell was he supposed to answer to that?! ‘No it’s not, even though I was seen by roughly half of the school doing it’? Give him a break.

“Yes,” he answered nevertheless because attitude would get him nowhere from here.

Mrs. Gardner gave him a nod before she turned her eyes to one of the men behind him. “And you fetched Mr. Mendelson, Montgomery? Why?”

“I saw when Kurt was caught and I thought that I’d try to help him –– not trying to say that what he did wasn’t wrong of course, but I thought that perhaps bringing a teacher that I knew Kurt liked would perhaps make things easier and some kind of agreement might be made so that Kurt wouldn’t…” Wes went quiet and the words still hung in the air around them even though Wes had left them unsaid.

“I see,” Mrs. Gardner said and Mr. M took it as his cue.

“Ah, yes, and I would like to add on Kurt’s behalf that although his habits in the classroom do appear a bit strange at first he is still one of the best students I’ve ever had and he also is a very nice boy in my opinion.”

“But ‘nice’ doesn’t change zhe fact zhat ‘e broke zhe school’s regulations,” Dufour pointed out but Kurt didn’t feel as put off by it as he perhaps ought to, but coach Sylvester does that to you.

It went quiet again, in which Kurt thought to how different it _would_ have been if this was McKinley and not Dalton. Coach would not have stopped to breathe even as she would accuse Kurt of whatever with an improvised speech which always ended up in the most bizarre places. Figgins would sit and barely listen before pointing out that there wasn’t anything to prove Kurt guilty and then let him go while Sylvester shouted profanities to everyone around her. As for this particular scenario, he would wind up having to hand over his cigarettes and lighter and perhaps do some detention –– McKinley was rather light on smoking on school grounds, mostly because of the lack of care and effort that was put into the school. Dalton Academy was a different matter altogether, though.

“Mr. Hummel,” the headmistress broke the silence, her attention completely at him now. “Do you have cigarettes and a lighter on you right now?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am.”

She made a gesture with her eyes at tell Kurt to pull said items up and put them on the desk in front of her, so Kurt reached into his inner pocket and did just that without even as much as a sigh in complaint. Like he had said to himself earlier: a bad attitude would get him nowhere right now. For a moment, Mrs. Gardner just looked at the package and lighter that he had placed in front on her and then she looked up, like she had come to a decision.

“I want to speak to Mr. Hummel alone, so if you would please leave,” she said which surprised not only Kurt but definitely Mademoiselle Dufour beside him as well. But no one uttered a single word to disagree with her and a moment later the door opened behind him leaving he and the headmistress alone.

“Tell me, Kurt,” she said as soon as the door was closed, “why do you think I let you into my school?”

For a moment Kurt sat completely dumbstruck in his chair, really not knowing what to answer that. It appeared as though his face was answer enough, however, because Mrs. Gardner continued.

“You’re no fool, Kurt,” she said –– and what was up with the first name basis all of a sudden? –– “and I think you know perhaps better than most that a person who, with no offence intended, looks like you is not often –– if ever –– found at a school like Dalton. So my question is: why do you think you are here?”

“Why you let me in,” Kurt started softly, trying to find his voice, “isn’t actually something I’ve thought too much of; I just sort of went with it.”

“You ‘went with it.’” Mrs. Gardner deadpanned, giving Kurt a critical look.

“I –– yeah,” Kurt said and he was trying to grasp the words to explain himself to her even though he hardly knew how to explain it to himself. “I, well, it was my dad who applied for the scholarship, not me, I didn’t even know about until we were in the car on our way here. But he wanted me in this school because he thought it would do me good and I kind of, well, haven’t been the best son so I thought that if I _did_ get enrolled I’d try –– for him.”

“But your plan didn’t stretch further than that?”

“With all due respect, ma’am, I am just a kid trying to survive high school. I think that if you managed to get an honest answer out of most people my age they would, for the most part, say the same.”

That got something close to a smile in reply and Kurt got a feeling that the headmistress to some extent did perhaps even like him just a little. “Then you joined the Warblers?” she continued her interrogation with and Kurt couldn’t suppress a little huff. It did not go unnoticed.

“Not so much joined as I was thrown head first into the club, I’d say.”

“You mean someone forced you to?”

Right there and then Kurt was convinced that if he told her what Wes had done, she would believe him. But he found that he didn’t want to because he didn’t want to put blame on Wes who had actually tried to help him in the best way he knew how, even when Kurt hadn’t asked him to. So, “No, no,” he said, shaking his head and even smiled a little. “I was presented with a very convincing argument to join,” which wasn’t really a lie now that he thought about it. Gardner bought it.

“You like being as part of the group?”

“Not so much at first,” Kurt answered truthfully. “I thought they were all silly, singing preps –– in fact I _still_ think they are, but I’ve realised that a little silly isn’t always so bad.”

“What do you think of the school as a whole?”

“I hate that I have to wear a uniform; I think some of the teachers and students are insufferable and that there are too many unused rooms and chesterfields just _standing around_ , being no use whatsoever to anything. But for the teachers and students that’s high school, really, and it wouldn’t change no matter which school you go to. I do like the diversity of classes Dalton offers and the general academic challenge –– and I think for the first time since middle school or so I’ve found people who I do not despise and I’m not ready to let go of that.” For a moment Kurt wondered if he had said too much –– too little, was too cheesy or too frank or _what_. Mrs. Gardner’s face gave nothing away as she just nodded.

“You have been straight with me to this point, so I see it only fair for me to be the same with you,” she said, looking straight at him. “Surely, you know by now that Dalton students don’t get scholarships too often, but have you ever thought of why?” She didn’t let Kurt answer before she continued. “If you think that it is because of purely academic reasons then you are wrong because no matter how impressive your personal academic career have been up to this point, I’ve seen greater from boys who still didn’t get in. So why? It’s because of years of working with young people like yourself, one do learn a thing or two about the youth.

“You are not the boy you make yourself appear as, Kurt, and while you put up a good act, I hardly think that I am the only one who has seen through it. It was the boy who is a hard worker, determined and also, I think, kind that I let into my school because I think you would be able to take this atmosphere which is so very different from a normal public school in many ways. A lot of boys can’t do that, and that is why they are not wearing that uniform as well.

“That said, rules are rules. While you would perhaps have gotten off easily at your previous school this is Dalton, not McKinley. Students have been expelled for less than skipping classes and smoking on school property so I hope that you understand the gravity of your situation.” She waited for Kurt to nod before she continued. “This will be your one and only warning, Kurt, and if you _ever_ step out of line again you will be expelled.”

“I understand, Mrs. Gardner,” he said, not fully willing to let himself relax just yet. “Thank you.”

That got a little huff in response, like she couldn’t believe she was letting him off the hook either. “Don’t make me regret my decision.”

If she meant not expelling him or letting in enrol in the first place, Kurt couldn’t tell, but he answered, “I won’t,” to both.

She nodded. “You can go now. Get something to eat at the café before your next class, will you? Having you faint because you haven’t eaten all day is the last thing I need.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied and smiled as he got on his feet. She just waved at him to get out of her office, but he thought it was rather amusing.

No one but the secretary was outside the office or outside the waiting room either. Kurt figured that classes had probably started by now and he went on a slow place to the cafeteria where he got a bagel and a cup of coffee from a most suspicious lunch lady.

“Headmistress’ orders,” he said with a quirky smile that only seemed to fuel her suspicion but, well, he _had_ broken into the kitchen once to steal ketchup so he couldn’t really blame her for not taking his word for it.

The bagel was quickly devoured on his way to the dorm to fetch his school bag and books as was the coffee on his way to English. He arrived 20 minutes late but Mr. Chamberlin, his English teacher, let him in anyway with only a little grunt and jerked his head towards Kurt’s seat as he laid eyes on Kurt in the doorway. He knew perhaps of Kurt’s trip to the headmistress and if he was standing in the doorway to class it meant that he ought to be there –– but then again perhaps Mr. Chamberlin _didn’t_ know or he just didn’t care. Well, whatever.

Apart from the furious whispering that went on for the rest of the day around him, Kurt thought it went all rather smoothly and normal. Or at least that was until he got to French class where both Wes and Nick –– but mostly Wes –– attacked him outside the classroom while Sebastian was leaning against the wall beside the entrance, watching the scene with a much too amused look on his face.

“What the hell were you _thinking_ , Kurt?!” Wes exclaimed as soon as he spotted him and even ran up to him and grabbed his blazer shaking him as if he could shake Kurt’s mind into making sense. There was a lot of blazer-grabbing Kurt today, Kurt thought.

“Did you get expelled?” Nick was saying seconds later, grabbing Kurt’s arm and _what was with all this grabbing now?_

“No, I got off with a warning; stop grabbing me!” he pushed them both away gently. “Personal bubble!” He gestured around himself to emphasise because Kurt didn’t want people near him right now, especially not boys, one of which was probably gay or at least bi, and _especially_ not today. He still hasn’t gotten over his internal crisis thankyouverymuch, even if he getting into trouble had distracted him from it for a little while. Seeing Nick, Wes and even Sebastian as well just served to remind Kurt that he had problems.

“I’d hate to interrupt your three-way cat fight, ladies, but Dufour is coming up the corridor and it would be best if we headed inside,” Sebastian drawled, cocky as ever and oh, Kurt wanted to punch him. But the meerkat wasn’t totally wrong, and the four of them made their way to their seats just as she entered and threw a disgusted look at Kurt which spoke volumes. Well, he didn’t like her either.

“We’re gonna talk after class,” Wes whispered to him just before class started and Kurt just shrugged in reply.

* * *

As promised, as soon as class ended, Wes all but dragged Kurt to his dorm and Kurt went with him, asking himself why he wasn’t fighting back.

“I _told you_ not to skip classes again after the first time, didn’t I?” was the first thing that came out of Wes’ mouth once they got to their destination –– his whole person was upset and angry and screaming for a fight –– and Kurt had longed for a fight for what seemed like forever.

“So?!” he shouted back, right up in Wes’ face. “What the fuck is it to you?!”

“Don’t you get _anything_ , Kurt?! How many times do I need to tell you that I care until you get it?”

“Well, maybe this isn’t about you caring about me; ever thought of that, Wes?!”

“I seriously don’t get you sometimes,” Wes said, his voice suddenly in a talkative tone. “You trust no one but yourself and you’re mean and push people away that are trying to help you, yet it is so obvious that something is troubling you, but you won’t let anyone help you. Why?”

Groaning loudly to the ceiling, Kurt took the liberty to sit down on Wes’ bed, letting his face fall into his hands moments after. He didn’t want to talk about this shit, not to Wes, not to anyone. Last time he had Blaine had given him that _look_ , and while it looked like Blaine hadn’t actually told anyone about it he still _knew_ and it was absolutely terrible.

“Blaine knows what exactly?” Wes asked gently as he sat down next to Kurt, and holy hel,l he just spoke that part out loud. What the fuck was happening to his self-preservation and control exactly?!

He looked at Wes sitting there next to him, waiting patiently for Kurt to talk and open up to him. The image was frighteningly similar to he and his dad in the same position, but only somewhere in the Hummel household or once or twice _Hummel’s Tires & Lube_. But this wasn’t Kurt and his father, this was Kurt and Wes. And perhaps, just _perhaps_ could Kurt trust his mentor with an ounce of all the things he wanted but never could share with Burt. After all, he had for some strange reason made the decision to not sell Wes out earlier –– which was something he didn’t do to just anyone, _especially_ if they had managed to blackmail him.

“I was just thinking,” he started off, slow and gently talking to the floor, “er, seeing Nick and Jeff this week I couldn’t help but to wonder if it’s, like, _okay_ to be as public as they are.” He dared himself to look up at Wes who gave him a confused look, like he didn’t understand either where this was coming from or where it was going.

“You mean being gay?” he asked bluntly and Kurt barely contained a winch but Wes didn’t seem to notice. “Well it isn’t _supposed_ to matter and Warblers are always very supporting of each other. If there would be any problems because of such thing the one in the wrong would actually get kicked out of the club. But that’s never happened and it’s against Dalton’s regulations to bully anyone for anything, sexuality included. Why do you ask?”

“Really, Wes, _really?!_ ” Kurt couldn’t help but to exclaim, suddenly angry that Wes couldn’t piece together what was right in fucking front of him. “I’m _gay_ , god damn it!”

Oh, holy fuck he said it.

Oh fuck, oh shit, oh hell, he _said it_ and he could practically feel something break and crumble inside of him and the next thing he knew the locked door in his mind is swung right open, his secrets slipping out.

“I’m _gay_ and I don’t _want_ to be and I tried so hard to change it and I can’t tell my dad –– can’t tell _anyone_ –– because then it will all go to hell, and he can’t find out because I don’t want him to hate me, and seeing _them_ together is so fucking hard and I’m so jealous of them and I can’t fucking take this anymore!”

He was breathing in hiccups, lumps in his throat clogging his airways, clouding his mind and the next thing he knows is a pair of slim arms wrapping around him and Wes pulling him close, saying absolutely nothing to him and Kurt was fucking panicking.

“Breathe, Kurt; it’s okay,” Wes mumbles, gently stroking his hand up and down Kurt’s back in a caressing manner. And Kurt did just that –– tried to breathe evenly even though he’s sobbing and couldn’t even recall when or how his head ended up on Wes’ shoulder, soaking the other’s blazer with his tears. And Wes just held him, barely talking, though the hand on Kurt’s back never stopped moving.

“It’s okay, you know,” he mumbles over Kurt’s shoulder. “To be gay, I mean. It’s who you are.”

“But I don’t fucking want to be!” Kurt roared into Wes’ shoulder.

“Hey, it’s not you who’s in the wrong, it’s our society!” Wes shot back, and, well, that might be the nicest thing someone had ever said to Kurt.

Defeated, he hugged Wes back and they just sat there for the longest of times. Which was until Kurt’s back starts aching. With a sigh he started to pull back and Wes let him. Moments later they are sitting straight on the bed again until Wes rose and went to get Kurt a tissue.

“Thanks,” Kurt muttered as he accepted it and started to wipe his tears away and blow his nose while Wes sat down again.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Wes asked gently, but Kurt shook his head.

“Not –– not now,” he said.

“That’s fine. But I’ll be here if or when you _do_ wanna talk about it,” Wes assured him. “Thanks for telling me.”

“You’re welcome?” Kurt said in a voice which was perhaps far too factious for the situation. But then after a moment, “I could have sold you out to Gardner today.”

Wes face went blank for a second. “What?”

“She made it clear that she would have believed me if I told her about your blackmail. But I didn’t, and I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but there you go.”

“Thank you?” Wes said, once again confused with their conversation and just like that they both started to giggle for no reason. It was apparently too much to ask for them to be serious right now.

Then Wes’ phone beeped and he pulled it out of his pocket. Kurt glanced over his shoulder to see that it was a text from David with read:

_Where the hell are you????_

“I guess we’re late for Warblers practise,” Kurt muttered.

“Yeah… But you don’t have to go today if you don’t want to, Kurt. I mean, they are probably gonna throw themselves on you the minute you walk in and ask you about today,” Wes said, suddenly serious again.

Kurt shrugged. “Better answer them then,” he said and Wes nodded.

He started to type a reply and Kurt stood up and walked to the little mirror Wes had hanging on his wardrobe door. Thankfully, Kurt’s eyes weren’t _too_ puffy and he hoped no one would notice them or at least comment. He felt half-way out of the closet already, which was terrifying, but at least he was certain now that if there was in any group of people that he’d rather have noticing that Kurt Hummel cried sometimes, it was in the Warblers.

“Lets go,” he said and then opened Wes’ door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 9 000 words!!! And this was suppose to not be such a important chapter - bUT I GUESS MY MUSE HAD OTHER IDEAS


End file.
